why this 
crumpled overcoat in summer 

this podium reserved for talking 

i listen to the river, to seagulls
to this dishevelled person 
with monuments for bones, who gambles away the hills & lakes
risks losing what he breathes

he rolls in his own contours, plays his hand, hopes it
will define the person he really is      
his childhood slides through a clarinet’s thirst for hitting high notes 

i listen to the river & watch 
for rain

a commuter train scorches past 

on the platform a small boy bites into his granny’s apple.
 

Iain Britton is an Aotearoa New Zealand poet. His latest collection is "The Intaglio Poems" (Hesterglock Press).