A true Aucklander always has a backup plan

Text to an Auckland friend:
Just went to poetry group with that writer.
He’s nice,
but this awful guy who looked like an oompa loompa kept smoking
and saying fuck during readings!
Written on the back of a bus timetable while pissed at the Backbencher with
the writer and Matthew:
1. Jot down the line,
it’s less than fine.
2. The awful Friday night routine,
I’m just a fly in Vaseline.
3. I, MP, agree never to see G “Courtney Love” R ever again.
4. Next to you I’m not much,
so please excuse me for faking disease to please
on a nearly winter Wellington night.
5. I write your name in embarrassingly large letters in the Backbencher.
Texted romantic advice the following night from aunt RA (via Mum):
RA says find out if he dances.
If not don’t waste time on him.
Check he doesn’t take drugs.
RA asks does he tango.
RA says tramping club.
Hunks there if poet doesn’t dance.

Dream life

I dreamed of moving a couch with Heather and Jamie,
and Jamie kept laughing,
saying 'I thought it was the head of the bed'
and then my Mum came out to thank everyone for helping move stuff,
and I tried to hide Heather,
because in real life my Mum hates her for vomitting on our carpet.
Then I woke up and that sucked in comparison to dream life.

If you can't say no I feel your pain

This time it’s having a flatmate who knocks on my bedroom door at 4am,
waking me up,
then pulls back the duvet,
jumps into bed with me,
hugs me tight,
and doesn’t leave until I’ve asked him to do so seven times.
The time before it was inviting a 20-year-old guy
(who’d come to look at my room in my old flat)
to a New Year party out of obligation,
getting drunk,
him whacking golf balls off the deck and into our neighbours’ houses,
and setting off a firework in the kitchen,
then kissing me and biting my cheeks
and accidentally ripping out my earring with his teeth.
The time before that it was drunkenly kissing a reasonably unattractive guy in a bar,
him inviting me to his place for a party and no one being there when we arrived,
him telling me that he liked to listen to his sister having sex,
and that she had lots of sex with different partners in order to get over her depression,
me calling up a friend, who came to bail me out,
the guy somehow wangling his way into coming along with us,
and me ending up locked in my friend’s bathroom all night until we finally got rid of the guy in the morning.
There has to be a link between those situations and the fact that if there’s:
A monk selling books about Buddhism,
someone collecting for Amnesty International;
or someone signing people up to make monthly payments to Greenpeace,
I’ll end up owning a book,
my wallet will be emptied,
my bank account will get debited.
I guarantee it.

No accounting for taste

The walls of your living rooms and bedroom are bare.
You’re happy with it this way.
You’re very slim and you smell good and classy all the time,
even when you come home after work.
Everything on your kitchen shelves is high in fibre, herbal or organic.
In all my sweaty, blistered heeled, cappuccino addicted, depressed chaos,
I have no idea where you’ve found an attraction.

A rubbish truck prayer

Take from us this day our daily waste and wasted days.
Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who didn't even both to trespass against us.
Good God, at least lead us into something.
The power to start a new story if we ever endeavour.
Amen.

Just friends now (for Mike)

'You have to come back to Auckland so you can use your ticket for Rangitoto,'
Mike said.
I asked him,
'do you still have yours?'
'Yeah, I might go over in a couple of weeks to take some photos.'
'Oh.'
I think my ticket will stay in my wallet for some time yet.

This is your tragedy

This is your tragedy,
being a man who has never been a man,
a wet drunk,
a serial user with almost no roads left,
except one,
which is paved with:
a managed who is 25 years younger than you
and who wants to boot you out;
bad posture;
evenings spent reading books about murder
and watching the racing channel that you illegally get for free;
and your no good intentions.
This is my tragedy too.
You live with yours
and I’ll live with mine.