Fresh, as a Daisy


Plucked at a late stage the bus travelled
down the forbidden lane grasping at glances
by passers by in their licenced gowns

and heavy sack as mat facts that rattle
the nerves of the bent silent one fast
casting his wares free into his flock

She lies on the silver beak of a storm
unaware of how its unseating her ways
as it worms its way in and takes all her things

Losing all that into dust the ancient
men sigh and gasp as they run
the sea is kind most of the time

20:00 NZT 24 March 2005 (09:000 GMT, perhaps)