men of different heights and hairiness
loiter a footpath-in-progress
      the example, albeit scrambled,
of ape emerging human
is an assembly & not smoko
for all sunnies (Dirty Dog, Oakley, Ray Ban, etc)
and orange vests and hard white hats
are removed provisions
for what’s an end of the day communion
without a dozen or so Tui
all lined up and indulged
until seven fuck nah fools
bang their metal trucks & fart
their last dusts
up outta here
a full bag of shit in hand now
I follow Lenny who follows his nose
with a lead that never relaxes
except when it’s his own business
               yeah, he sniffs a crushed Tui
or chicken feathers
and a galaxy of guts
and pink clawed feet ribbed as yams
and watches shit
it’s pretty easy
but what the fuck’s happened there?
no worries, Lenny
runs over,
and there’s a severed head
with its comb
beak & wattle-
you see everything’s all bloody
read by him with his mouth,
and I ‘spit it out!’
we’ll possibly stay
until the sky pans
heaven for stars        and we’ll wipe the blood
off our mouths
or maybe walk
where there is    still
the WORKS END sign
and it’s light enough
and smells
like someone’s left a lid off


Bernie Coleman is 29 and from north-west Auckland. He lives in a hut at the foot of a forest. He graduated the MA in Creative Writing in 2014 and his non-fiction and poems have previously been published in journals both in New Zealand and the USA.