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Smells Like Colonial Spirit

Anne-Marie Te Whiu

always a man next door

clearing his throat

clearing the land

he has a dream for extensions

a need to renovate

a desire to reshape

his patch of turf

each meter controlled


sharp edges      tall fences      brick pathways

raising his leg

marking his territory

first it is drill    then saw        then hammer


measurements defined

as right as nails

corners hardened

map laid out


bricks hold down the plans on each end

trucks deliver planks of foreign wood

to make his man-shed


I want to burn it down in the middle of the night

                                                                    and spread the ashes in the carpark

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