Love Poetry For Couple

Neil, you were six weeks dead when I was born, the last hours of 1982. Almost thirty years have gone by since then. Driving through Whanganui, I can't get my head around the streets. Parallel to the river, or perpendicular? The map in my mind is a map of the past, probably never accurate to begin with. The river has this kink in it, difficult to align to. I often drive around that bend, the

from Dear Neil Roberts In 1989, my dad gets knocked off his motorbike. He gets a court summons, to testify against the driver. Because she is brown, and my dad has decided the justice system is racist, he rips up the summons. (A few weeks earlier, a housebreaker (brown) who happened to be a father of six, was shot dead by a neighbour (white) who was let off). Dad rips up his summons on the