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FUCK ENGLISH, VOTE POEM

Nikki-Lee Birdsey

Poetry

18/09/2017





The layer of mist over paddocks,
delicate and cold; the layer of cows
under a silver sun-bleached tree; the hills
rising over them and in the distance
the whole countryside demarcated
by accidental hydrangeas
or a gentle river.
 
All of these layers upon layers
over something good, I say.
 
But then I remember we have some
of the most polluted rivers in our history
 
because former Prime Minister John Key
and the identical-looking, interchangeable men
that replace him; that is, white, middle-aged men,
think conservation is too expensive,
 
and the arts are too expensive,
and interfering with the housing crisis
in our little, manageable cities
won’t make the right people the right
amount of money,
so it’s too expensive.
 
Shelter, art and nature are too expensive,
so what do we have left?
Health? LOL.
But can you have health if you don’t have
insulation in a leaky house
that you live in with seven others?
Or a bank account solely
for rent and bread because that’s
all anyone can afford, and that
should be good enough, they say.
But what did rent and bread cost
in 1981 at the University of Canterbury?
 
Even though you can’t afford to pay
your student loan today,
I still love you.
 
Even though John Key and Bill English’s
tuition was free
you know that art teaches us
how to love and that is important.
And while you paid for that lesson
in the tens of thousands
and John and Bill didn’t,
you know that they
didn’t learn it, or much at all,
because all they do is take
when they have already been given
so much.
 
Even though you consider the legacy
of our nation’s multi-millionaire
former banker leader
to be poorly formed one-liners
for media soundbites
a national humiliation,
I still love you.
 
Even though you’re sick again this winter
because you can’t afford heat
or the fight against mold
in houses bought and ‘maintained’
by John Key lookalikes,
I still love you.
 
Even though you are so sad today
and there is no one to tell
and you feel there is nowhere to go
with your sadness:
no job
no plane ticket
no warm home
 
I still love you.
I still love you.
I vote for you.