Days without mail

My neighbour’s new piano
is played upon with the greatest care.

I learned the truth at seventeen
that love was meant for beauty queens

she plays and the theme
of Hill Street Blues.

Every evening the man brings home his trailer
of vegetables. He bruises them rushing over the kerb.

In the house across the way a mirror waits
glowing and alone for all the lighted day.

Out on the street all sorts of people are giving way.
You can see from here the single green light

while it lasts and the door of the fish shop
opening and closing with a ring.

There is a huge white shine over the hill
as if the moon might rise there suddenly

and give fright to pelicans tucked up
for the night, to the sleeping lions

in their home of limited dimension.
It is the hockey stadium, Mt Albert

a beauty worthy of worship
never found quite how you expect it.