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Thursday, May 24, 2007
You Drunken Lout
Last night the heat
was too much
for an Autumn night
I lay
tossing
sleepless in
the still darkness
until you came
down
our street
at eleven-thirty-three
P.M.
You drunken lout!
banging gates
playing footy with
the trash
cans
left ready for
the rubbish man
in the morning
God, were you noisy!
just you on your own
thrown out when
the
isobars closed
funneled in the gradient
of barometric pressure
to
hurl yourself against
the walls of my abode
So
I closed the windows
pretending
you weren't there
and lay
drifting
in the darkness
trying not to heed
your cacophonous
brawl
as you vent your spleen
for all to hear
and I wondered ...
to whom can one report
a Nor'west gale?
New Zealand is notorious for its Nor'west gales, nowhere more so than Canterbury. So, when a 'goodun' blows up we know all about it.