Tuesday Poem: Justine by Helen Heath

Sunday, 7th November, 2010


There’s no point trying to
stop your Ugg boots from scuffing
on the ground, it’s just
the nature of Ugg boots. Anyways
there’s no hurry. You’re thinking
about those Black Sabbath lyrics
and him singing in a metal falsetto
in the garage by the beer fridge. One
hand on his Holden Torana to steady himself
the other holding a spliff the size of a cigar.


Finished with my woman
’cause she cannot help me with my miiind . . .


But then the wind picks up
and you feel as if it could lift you
right out of your boots
and take you past the firebreaks
on the hill. But it can’t be The Rapture
’cause you’re only just above the houses
and the river, which slides over
the shingle beds
and out to sea. Besides, you know
you’re a sinner and you can’t ascend.



I'm posting one of mine this week that has just gone live at The 4th Floor Journal. I urge you to go and have a look at the other fantastic writing they have up.

For more Tuesday Poems visit the hub.

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Lovely! It goes from the Hutt to the sublime.

How could I not love a poem that quotes from "Paranoid"? But the last line is even better.

Love it - Ugg Boots, fire breaks and a metal falsetto - who needs the Rapture when you own a Holden Torano? I'm about to read Tim Wilson's debut novel which evidently explores a similar theme albeit, possibly not the Ugg boots. And, yay for the 4th Floor journal - full of Kiwiana - no cultural cringe on the 4th floor, just unabashed passion for the ordinary-every-day detail that make us who we are - whoever that is. :)

I too love the unabashed colloquism of this poem, Helen. Seems so familiar. Thanks for the link to The 4th Floor Journal, too. I had not encountered the journal before!

Helen, I feel like I've been transported back to the Hutt hills. Awesome!

<p>Thank you everyone :-)</p>