Poems about cities #7: Wellington, once more

I lied when I told you I only had eyes for the revolution.
Somewhere along the way my eyes strayed.
First the left one
started stealing glimpses at you.
Then the right eye joined in.
Soon I wasn’t paying attention to the riots in Tonga,
too busy watching you roll pasta dough and
slice it into strips that hung like willow branches
from clothes hangers in your kitchen.

In Oaxaca the people were being massacred
and Gaza too.
Meanwhile you chased your son through Civic Square and I
watched,
mesmerised.

The day the bypass opened I left
the protest early
—before the cops arrived—
to write to you.

I lied when I told you I only have eyes for the revolution.
My eyes have followed you around this city and now
the revolution is nowhere in sight.

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