v.

Soon the baches will be flattened.
Fennel mashed to the roots
honks out to minahs
waddling on the road,
blackbirds straddle wanderings
of old pohutukawas.
Bread rises without any fuss.
So does the tide.

Poem and reading by Rachel McAlpine cc by 2.0, photo of New Zealand seaside baches by Stu Haigh, CC BYNC via Flickr.