September
The Great Milhouse Beer Pong Champs
Chucho and I started off like gramps
Slow and steady, then gaining speed
An unshakeable unstoppable force indeed
The final was upon us and we could see
Our American challengers had strong pedigree
My throw wouldn't click but Chucho stepped up
Draining four in a row and we took home the cup
Those two beautiful words appeared on the screen
'File corrupted' - every editor's dream
A day of work lost in the binary abyss
Maybe my saving technique was a bit hit and miss
Up went the sleeves and a baring of teeth
Channeling the injustice simmering beneath
A kind of creative rage ensued
Words were said but they were rude
No quiero escribir hoy
Palabras no vienen porque estoy
Cansado, y no no dormi suficiente
Podria dormir ahora facilmente
Pero no, voy a escribir porque tengo que
Necesitas algo leer, esto yo se
Cuando leas esto, trata de disfrutar
Y si no entiendes, puedes llorar
Going back through footage of the trip
Watching donkey riding and Tom's courtship
Bolivia was such a ridiculous place
The salt flats resembled outer space
It was cheap and wild and mind expanding
The slower Spanish made for better understanding
A country more suited to a roaming backpack
Than a family looking for a place to kick back
A day of productivity and intense administration
I'm not seeking compliments just a gentle ovation
Ever since I wandered through Bolivia and Brasil
The path ahead materialised as I became more still
For me there is a comfort in knowing where I want to go
The daily stuff will sort itself when there's a direction to flow
Sometimes it's nice to wander, and sometimes to walk somewhere
I think wandering keeps the mind from becoming too square
Today I am a conscientious objector
I don't feel like dipping into poetic nectar
The war is not out there, it is in my mind
The material screams WRITE but I've declined
A day off work to refresh and regroup
Cold water on the face and a hot bowl of soup
I'll bounce back harder than an expert sudoku
It will sting your eyes like misplaced shampoo
I chased the ball like I'd been let out of a cage
A look of ecstasy mixed with a touch of road rage
This is what happens when I haven't played in a while
A footballer returning from an unintentional exile
The altitude softened the initial energy burst
I was shooting like both of my feet had been cursed
It felt great to play despite the scoreline
We left just as the sun forgot how to shine
My head flicks back and forth like I'm at a tennis match
The words slip like soap, too fast to catch
I'm in a room filled with Argentineans - never a good idea
Not because of the company just the verbal diarrhoea
Now I'm humming in my head, how did that song go?
Maybe I'll ask Marcus later, I'm sure he will know
Oh shit hang on, I think that question was directed at me
I dissolve back to real life and try to brandish something witty
The kiwi sense of humour is an acquired taste
Some people chew and spit out with haste
I can't get enough, especially on the big screen
A few scenes deep I'm giggling like I'm fourteen
There's an honesty to it, a deep sense of place
And a vulnerability that I think more kiwis need to embrace
Meat pies at the dairy, jandals for scorching feet
Two bucks in your pocket looking for something sweet
This evening we went to a cooking demonstration
The meal involved prawns to my frustration
You see prawns and myself used to get on quite well
Now they get a kick out of making my mouth swell
On into the next room, and a bartending class
The man lived for what he put in a glass
Flavours infused with a flurry of motion
This was an art form of some devotion