he takes notes about. He tries to hit the right ones

every time he speaks about them – he does his best

to compliment and complement their abilities,

the way they looked and what they looked at.

Sometimes a few cracks appear in the waka:

someone was a murderer, or someone was not all

that they seemed. To the interested, cracks appear on

the same scale, are worthy of same judgement.

To hide these judgements in little letters is their fate.

iv 2140AD

Waka reaches for stars – mission control clears us for launch

and we are off to check the guidance system

personally. Some gods are Greek to us Polynesians,

who have lost touch with the Aryan mythology,

but we recognise ours and others – Ranginui and his cloak,

and those of us who have seen Fantasia know Diana

and the host of beautiful satyrs and fauns.

We are off to consult with the top boss,

to ask for sovereignty and how to get this

from policy into action back home.

Just then the rocket runs out of fuel –

we didn’t have enough cash for a full tank –

so we drift into an orbit we cannot escape from

until a police escort vessel tows us back

and fines us the equivalent of the fiscal envelope

signed a hundred and fifty years ago.

They confiscate the rocket ship, the only thing

all the iwi agreed to purchase with the last down payment.

v Honda Waka

Today I surrendered the life

of my Honda City

to a wrecker in Penrose for $30.

I bought it seven years ago for $6000.

It has rust in the lower sills,

rust around the side windows –

on the WOF inspection sheet it says:

‘this car has bad and a lot of rust …’

That car took me to Uncle Pat’s tangi in Bluff.

We stopped and gazed at Moeraki,

the dream sky, on the way.

A friend followed us in it on the way

to National Women’s for Temuera’s birth

(we were in her huge Citroen).

We went to Otaki, and Wellington,

in the Honda to visit family.

The Honda took me to Library School

perched next to Victoria Uni.

I drove Grandad across the creek in the Honda

at night after the family reunion bash.

Temuera’s first car seat was in the Honda.

That Honda has seen a high percentage

of my poetry.

Now I have left it behind.

vi Feelings

Shooting pains, or are they growing,

how does one enumerate and describe

a feeling? – should one resort to the military

analogy as outlined in Colonel Bridge’s

journal (there he goes again, referring

to the massacre as if he doesn’t talk about it

enough – let the event lie boy, don’t bore

the reader with the petty tale – it’s all

in the Turnbull Library anyway, I’m sure

they’d want to read it when they’re in

the mood) OR SHOULD ONE TELL

THE TRUTH IN CAPITAL LETTERS

(cut it sic) or should one concentrate