Author: emjay

East west winds. North south rows. Autumn’s chill fingers rubbing vineyards the wrong way.   The brown corduroy suit my mother had made for me My brother’s in aqua the colour of my faded Air NZ satchel and Dad’s MkII Cortina two tone with a carless day sticker.   M*A*S*H, Happy Days or Taxi at…

I wrote a poem once airing and burying secrets and shame. A poet engaged with me about his job in waste management. He had some good points.   I wrote a poem once about a tragedy and loss of life. Later the death toll went up and my poem got better. Not because of the…

Expired blue cans of Rheineck. Left overs from a secret Santa gift. Only four would fit in the cheap blue chilly bin. Jimmy had just turned eighteen, stoked to get a chilly bin of beer. I ended up firing him later that year. So there’s still two blue cans cheap faux-Germanic even the schlöss can’t make…

Deliberately dirty brown cheap streets. On the road to prison. No state houses on this board buddy.   No benefits in the pile. No opportunity denied due to colour or gender. Just the roll of the die.   False hope teases in the corner. There’s no such thing as a free park. Taxes and mortgages…

Friends overseas think it’s eccentric cute that we have birds that can’t fly.   It’s not as if our birds are damaged defective, puckeroo.   It’s not as if our birds are stupid dense flunked School C flying.   It’s not as if our birds are lackadaisical lazy just can’t be bothered.   Or too…

Read Colquhoun and Bird they said. Being the girly swot I was called I did.   Downtime moments smiling to myself. Not just the gins. The joy of discovery. It was homework, so maybe not discovery. Lonely-Planet-sightseeing then.   Even though I quite like Monica. Perhaps this can be forgiven, overlooked, excused on account of…

Too filthy and hefty unfit for kerbside collection. Can’t risk some roaming dog shredding the bags already stretched shiny to bursting my insecurities not just bared but snotty billboards scattered down the road.   A deleted browser history the heart I abused a lie told to avoid putting myself out.   Tarpaulin tied down. Twice….

Drinking hand sanitiser by the cough full. Building a bunker brick boxes of tissues.   Not my fault you didn’t stock up sooner. Couldn’t you see it coming?   Televised ring side fights over 4-ply. Those reality TV guys saw it coming.   Social Distancing Media screaming Of course we should have closed the borders…

Some things I can’t put on paper. Can’t won’t.   Things I’ve done. Things done. Things undone. Things done unto me. Object subject ive and vice versa verse of vice   Karma’s a bitch. Made a bitch outa me.

Like the Dad in the Meadowfresh commercial. His daughter off to the dairy by herself. Daddy’s girl. To buy the milk from the friendly dairy owner. All Chinese kids are good at maths and are probably carrying Coronavirus and dairy owners are compulsorily Indian-looking and probably expert at IT. I wish I was that clever…

The sun is finally here and it seems summer is done. The birds ate all my tomatoes and most of my plums. Cherries long gone. School’s back next week. Summer is done. School’s back with stationery and notices for sports and the bus. Fundraising baking. No more Lucky Book Club. It feels like earthquake weather….

(Published in ‘a fine line’, Summer 2019/20) Jeaned. Black T-shirted. Coiffured and moustached. Pierced, inked, ear budded. Cold brewed. Avo smashed. Ringed fingers flicker. Text sent. iPhone dark. Sleek chrome-onyx fob. Italian marque. LimeLululemon. Her sweat sweet Dior’s Decafsoylatte. No pockets. Where’s hers? I stand. Out of place. My pocket weighed down. My grubby sweats…