Tuesday Poem: “Christchurch Gothic” by David Eggleton

Christchurch Gothic

Summer’s Avon spelt the names of atua in green,

and through trees sun shafts dug at dappled lawns,

as if to unearth a circuit-board of worm-holes,

the universe beneath the labyrinth,

the silent presence of mountain shingle

across the curve of the island’s waist.

Teen racers hummed like bees in a hive,

and late autumn was the harlequin

hurrying past them down Bealey Ave,

towards the rusted, busted, midnight hour,

its sword-and-sorcery pageant of flashing sabres,

its chorus lines of bla...