Easter Sunday in Otara
Posted: Thu Apr 24, 2014 2:18 pm
Not everyone has a happy Easter.......
(Otara is a region of South Auckland)
Easter Sunday in Otara
© Rod Walford 2014
He licks a strawberry ice cream as he sits there on the deck
The sunshine warms his bruises and the marks upon his neck.
His dad is stoned and sleeping, and he wonders if in dreams
He still hears mummy shouting or his little brother’s screams.
It was Easter Sunday morning in Otara
His ice cream started melting in the sun.
He shared it with his baby sister, Cara
While little Rangi chewed a day old bun.
His mum is weeping, blurry-eyed, her swollen face is tender
As, half-asleep, her old man stands, still stoned from last night’s bender.
His ragged vest is stained with beer and vomit speckled blotches
Mum’s silent stare is tinged with hate; she coldly waits…and watches.
She looks through grimy windows to a place across the street
Where on this Easter morning all the faithful flock to meet.
She sees the smiling faces of the ladies dressed in white;
She sees the Cross of Jesus shining in the bright sunlight.
It hadn’t shone too brightly in the confines of the night
When he’d been so brutal with her while her children cried in fright.
Yet still she prayed as he performed, that God would intercede
And teach him love and tenderness…instead of lust and greed.
But it was just another morning in Otara
The vision started melting in the sun.
The ice-cream dripped just like the blood of Jesus
And fell on Rangi’s day old hot cross bun.
(Otara is a region of South Auckland)
Easter Sunday in Otara
© Rod Walford 2014
He licks a strawberry ice cream as he sits there on the deck
The sunshine warms his bruises and the marks upon his neck.
His dad is stoned and sleeping, and he wonders if in dreams
He still hears mummy shouting or his little brother’s screams.
It was Easter Sunday morning in Otara
His ice cream started melting in the sun.
He shared it with his baby sister, Cara
While little Rangi chewed a day old bun.
His mum is weeping, blurry-eyed, her swollen face is tender
As, half-asleep, her old man stands, still stoned from last night’s bender.
His ragged vest is stained with beer and vomit speckled blotches
Mum’s silent stare is tinged with hate; she coldly waits…and watches.
She looks through grimy windows to a place across the street
Where on this Easter morning all the faithful flock to meet.
She sees the smiling faces of the ladies dressed in white;
She sees the Cross of Jesus shining in the bright sunlight.
It hadn’t shone too brightly in the confines of the night
When he’d been so brutal with her while her children cried in fright.
Yet still she prayed as he performed, that God would intercede
And teach him love and tenderness…instead of lust and greed.
But it was just another morning in Otara
The vision started melting in the sun.
The ice-cream dripped just like the blood of Jesus
And fell on Rangi’s day old hot cross bun.