Poem 474

A dose of flu prompting self reflection and asking myself if I’ve been too risk averse, taken the wrong track in life … the Ghost Pirate Ship was a ghost train type attraction at the annual fairground sideshows on the lakefront in Rotorua – kids who’d been through it told me there was a hanging sack that gave you a shock as you brushed by – I stood outside for a long time holding the two dollars that I could spend on books instead …

( I like the pots and saucepans – containers and tools of life – but nothing cleaving to me … and also how that suggests the constellation (actually asterism) of the Big Dipper (which is also a fairground ride) … )

Ghost Pirate Ship 1969

I was sick
and then I couldn't write

and I could see all the way along a corridor
like at school
and there was someone standing at the far end
waving
and it was the end of my life
and it could wave
because it had empty hands

and all the pots and saucepans go round
the clanking steam-driven galaxies
but nothing puts its handle
in my palm

now I could go into the Pirate Ship
in the long ago sideshows
embrace the wet sack
with the electrical charge
the pure wonder of it all
in exchange for the careful money
I went home with