Anticipating dawn and dignitories the crowd
waits on a sign from wardens that a chair
is ripe for claiming. Next to me I hear
a young man telling his Welsh friend how proud
he is and how much progress has been made:
so many learning te reo. On the big screen
successive leaders ornament the scene
with hope despite the promises betrayed.
As darkness fades a lump swells in my throat
despite the cliché and the rhetoric.
Māori of old knew in their hearts the trick
of hearing in the light-change a new note.
As morning grows I spot the PM feed
the infant Neve, anchored by the child’s need.