Thee are no stone steps sunk in the middle
worn into basins by years of sandalled feet.
Our steps are flat; Health and Safety require it.
There are crazed, painted lines on some roads
These can look like ancient mosaics or runes
But they are instructions for cars to read.
Even our shape is new. Our iconic volcanic Rangitoto
The pert young breast of our city,
Wasn’t there 600 years ago.
The Art Deco building down the road
Vanished, overnight ,to be replaced
By the Inner City Rail Link, we think.
We don’t look in the rear vision mirror.
While we drive Time’s winged chariot
Up the Southern motorway.
In the congealed jam of the Waterview tunnel
We sip instant breakfast through a straw
and scroll into the future.
The trick is always to go forward here
On this ancient lava motherlode
Which waits, patient, it’s moment to explode.