This poem is taken from PN Review 135, Volume 27 Number 1, September - October 2000.
Four PoemsMoa
The first Maori waka arrived
at a pastoral kitchen,
stocked with moa
roaming on giant drumsticks,
named by the settlers
'chicken' which is
to say, meat.
They moved as slowly
as a crowd, and loudly
as a feast,
which is what, after all,
they were.
Those pastoral days
when we walked
with our dinner,
two legs by two,
if we had not got along
so well, may well
have lasted
longer.
...
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