A POEM: Suffrage

The Quay.

It is bound like an adolescent’s mouth by metal towers.

It sits on reclaimed land.

And don’t forget the crowds of black

As they stride the Friday lunch hours with eco-death

coffee cups and their round-moons of sushi.


The law school is on the left.

Wooden library building        beautiful

With its twirls and trod-to-velvet-carpets.

Then there’s Old Government House,

also wooden.


Behind The Hive with its buzzes

and its whirs.


I was a skinny flower stemmed girl in teal.

Yellow crested.

I ran the corners of a square field

And rebelled in my non-regulation red raincoat.

Head bent

To the books I learned of history and literature

Writing papers on Mansfield and her Doll’s House and

Grace with her tales of collecting pipi from the

Suck of sand.


And on my walks across The City to the Cuba Quarter;

(The place where I’ve always felt more at home

Amongst the tatts and

the vegan coffee shops)

I first crossed the streets with Kate the Revolutionary

Saying ‘Yes! Safe to Go’ her face noted

On green-lipped currency

While up the other end of town

there’s Carmen glowing         red

as we in our quickly-changed-into-fake-Doc-boots and

denim-rhinestone-studded-minis step forward


across the painted lines of the streets.


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