The ripper hook on the digger gouges the pavement.
A workman prods deep into the wound with a metal pole.
The digger’s scoop scrapes across the rubble,
Swings in a half circle, and pukes its load into a dumper
Which shudders and coughs in the dust.
‘Why?’ Tane asks, and again, “Why, Grandma?” I explain.
‘The digger is digging a trench in which to bury a pipe.’
I don’t tell Tane the pipe is for high-speed broadband cables.
Why? That’s too hard to explain to him, or to myself.
The butterfly scents her need for a mate across the suburb.
The lonely whale keens his need across oceans.
The newborn baby smells and finds the nipple in the dark.
But we need cables to tie us all together
Otherwise we will never find love.