Theme Time Radio
It’s a Wellington wind
Rolling fog off the waterfront
And I
Under the frailest of moons
An open bracket in the sky
With her heels in her handbag
She’s walking barefoot through Frank Kitts Park
Past the quietest of men perfecting tai chi in the dark
Two lovers in a window
The wait time on the helpline is simply absurd
A nightshift nurse has the roughest smokers’ cough you’ve heard
It’s time to start the doughnuts
A family reels at an untimely death
Cops pull over a man
The most pungent gin smell is on his breath
A man wakes in an alleyway
Cracked lips and a stomach in knots
On the roof of the Majestic Building
Two teenagers shoot the sickest dangling sneakers shots
On a deadlocked cathedral
Pigeons roosting up in the bells
A trail of perfume as a girl walks out of the cheapest of motels
Wind picks up a coffee cup
A concierge knits by a broken phone
A girl checks the extensive medicine cabinet
Of the guy who’s brought her home
Tripping under strobe lights
The TAB’s still taking online bets
A petrol station bathroom inspires immediate regret
Outside the dogs are barking
The neighbourhood tomcat defends his patch
Sex workers fire up an engrossingly brutal boxing match
Eight ball in the corner pocket
Jazz band packs gear into a van
Sixty nine forty’s the passcode that uncovers
The secrets of a duplicitous man
Sneakers on an overhead wire
After their date he finds himself unmatched
In spite of the crunching sound
The back bumper’s only lightly scratched
Someone singing Hank Williams
A cough rings out on a floor above
A writer finds only the dreariest phrases
Since nothing much rhymes with love
Neon sputters and dies out
A boomer fails at speech-to-text
Among the most intriguing, misleading fictions
Are the ones about hotel sex
In the name of spurious freedoms
They skin a seal at Mahanga Bay
A lonely lover eyes the path of least resistance
Out of all of the Fifty Ways
What’s the least worst option?
Where’s the goddamn remote control?
Two workers manoeuvre a metal plate over a manhole
The air is thick with a chemical
A karaoke crowd attempts the Titanic theme
In gleaming stock images
Minimum wage jobs depicted as the stuff of dreams
They say our cities are sinking
She tells him the moustache simply has to go
His drunken indignation would be worthy
Of an exploitative reality show
Storm whips up the sea into a Turner
Milk in the coffee only turns it grey
It seems there’s a perfect meme
In place of anything the kids have to say
A Four Square Owner
Locks the ciggies out of sight and latches the grate
Desperate eyes soliciting contact
He determinedly refuses the bait
Jaywalking like a ninja
Matariki fireworks explode in the night
Spoodle checking for mail
On the pole of a slightly twisted traffic light
It’s a Wellington wind
Rolling fog off the waterfront
And I
Under the frailest of moons
An open bracket in the sky
