Singalong Poem by Bernadette Hall

So,
you thought you'd be set up
in next to no time

au contraire,
‘the new land' continues to elude
like blue-eyed eels in the river

‘the new land' ripens
like a bridegroom, like a bride

you take her in, you place
your hand on his murdered flesh
you are full of murmurs

*

you want to take her home
you want to keep her warm

you want to sit her down
by the fire
of bombed out cities

lying on the marble floor,
playing the didjeridoo,

she will be able to be
your little acclimatised owl

tu whit tu whoo!

this is the song
of your original sins:

the albatross around your neck
the botched document

hello, kia ora!
this is a message from New Zealand!