Ngawhatu

On the Richmond bus to Nelson passing Polstead Road
you only had to say it, and everyone knew, unspoken
we almost dared not look, it stirred such potent thoughts
caused laughter, mocking, and a deeply seated superstition
innuendo out the window, the road that leads to there
To where? You ask?  But we all knew, we knew for sure


that’s where the loonies go and you’ll go there for sure
we’d tell each other, laughing, pointing, up that road
if you’re not careful, shit a brick, you’ll end up there
What’s up there?  But no one speaks, it’s all unspoken
get off the grass and up your arse with superstition
hoodackie, thingummybob, bite your bum thoughts


no cock crowed thrice as I denied , but in my thoughts
were you and him but tightly kept, ashamed for sure
of knowing what was up that road, alas not superstition
the halfway mark en route, bus stop Polstead Road
get off the grass, half pie inside I laughed, my shame unspoken
the loony bin we shouted up the boohai pointing there.


I daren’t admit in public on the bus that I’d been there
in Aunty’s Morris Minor up that road;  my thoughts
I kept inside, our weekend visits left unspoken
the loony bin they shouted but none of them so sure
not the way that I was, not exactly what was up that road
yes  I knew just how to thwart suspicion, superstition


Scottish names they gave the villas, avoiding superstition
Stirling at the top was called the lock-up, dangerous to be there
but more benign was Kinross halfway up a landscaped road
among ornamental conifers, the bowling lawn, some say their thoughts
still haunt the valley, patients weaving baskets, no one’s sure
just what they felt besides the shock of ECT, most of it unspoken


the loony bin, we shouted, yet kept the worst unspoken
for if we named or claimed this thing we fed our superstition
the potential that was lurking at this intersection meant for sure
a powerful sense of self protection; we were never going there
up Polstead Road, we mocked and scoffed … but in my thoughts
I knew the way by heart, each bend, and every valley of that road


nga’s not superstitious and whatu, is possibly an eye, or hailstone
(yes, I get that for sure) yet up that road my thoughts still go when
ngawhatu meant loony and both of you … but now it’s not unspoken.