Auckland
you and I are South Island people
Alex says
10 minutes on the street in Auckland
and I realize I am blinking fast
while impeccably dressed people hurtle past us
toward their ferries
a man on a bike rings his bell three times
then mutters curses
before Alex gets out of his way
at the Countdown grocery
I see the first person panhandling in months
and then we gawk as a Rolls-Royce glides by
here people are just too polished for us
and I already miss the rough grey-green
of West Coast jade
fluency
at the rental car counter
English gushes from the Kiwi clerk’s
young, witty, unpretentious lips
and within seconds
she grasps our situation
anticipates what we’ll say next
banters, poses questions
sizes up our promotional brochure needs
and sends us on our way
with bubbly brisk efficiency
while we blink mutely
realizing how impoverished
our speech has been for months
(our fault, not learning Tok Ples
as they say in PNG)
and we stand stunned by what can be said
when you share a mother tongue
