the folk song heard downtown
is the drum of sweet rain
glazing the cooled streets
like the donuts back home
but this isn’t back home
this isn’t Singapore
where chewing gum leads to deportation
this isn’t London
soaked in the stench of history
or Los Angeles,
that elusive country club
Auckland is a patchwork city
yarns of earth and bustle
snipped from each continent
and loosely woven into
the messy noise of this morning
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