Visitors with Intent

On the radio, Jesse’s in Dunedin, interviewing locals
spinning our attractions, the usual tropes, wildlife,
lack of traffic, the cold, how much they love it.

‘Safe for students,” someone says. I question
the veracity, knowing how many land in ED
on Saturday nights, knowing about peepers and worse.

A car follows us down the road, negotiating the slips
and stops at the entrance to the carpark.
I turn around from the path, notice again the car.

At the top of the dunes, a man is looking for sea lions
to show his visiting niece, ‘one here Tuesday,’
I say, ‘but most gone now for winter.’

No waves to catch today so the beach is all ours,
the air fresh, the sky unclouded, the island uninhabited.
Hip-sore, I go back first, open the boot. A waterfall of glass

falling at my feet, the back window shattered. ‘A flicked stone,’
I say, believing in random accidents, unable to take in
the chunk of concrete lying amongst the shards.

Not until we get home do I notice the absences, red bag,
with emergency hats, mittens, first aid kit, and remember
the car, the occupants watching. I think of that word

I took issue with—‘safe’. But I am for now.

Diane Brown

Diane Brown runs Creative Writing Dunedin. Her eight published books range over poetry, novels, and memoirs. She has recently completed a hybrid collection, Growing Up Late and is now working on a prose/poetic exploration of female ancestors, Straight as A Pound of Candles.