Tuesday Poem: Christmastide
Christmastide
Christmas—and we
like so many others
are washed north
on a tide of summer,
our route signposted
by pohutakawa,
all flowering late
against a mirage
of cabbage trees,
dusty in the heat
that shimmers
above melting tar—
the whole country baking
as the nation makes
its annual pilgrimage
of Christmas and New Year:
Good to see ya, we say,
or simply mate, pouring out
a cool one before we sit
down together, buoyant
with the sunshine
and the colour,
the high tide of summer.
© Helen Lowe
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