Tuesday Poem: "Big Stupid Grin"

It was the type of day Wellington is infamous for:

rain slanting into the pursed and puckered faces

of harried pedestrians

and l, out and about with my secret

that in the tall towers where the wheels

grind slowly

a thing not made of commerce

a growing not spurred by market forces

an investment not subject to whims and crises,

but a spark ignited by two people

laying themselves open to love

and hope and dreams and

schemes sometimes lost sight of,

was fanning the flame,

the head, heart, flesh, bone and wairua

of a life

taking root in my beloved's belly,

a life long longed for

a life

whose existence sweeps before it all petty irritations

and affixes itself on my face

as a big stupid grin

The poet wishes to acknowledge Valley Micropress in whose pages this poem first appeared.