5 Wairaka

She had to be punished. Couldn't
    live with the humiliation.
        She beat it south, squawking
like a weka, and where the coast
    baulks at the corner, she looked
        back and tripped, her feet
ensnared by seaweed. The little
    bush birds, attending her,
page 70         begged me to forgive her,
but my heart was stone. It wasn't
    good the thing I had to do—
        turned her into the monstrous
rock of ill omen that's named
    for her—Wairaka. Sort
        of miss her, though, glowing
black eyes, black hair tumbling to her
    bottom—lovely, that. Could
        weep, thinking of her and
how it used to be . . . Ah, well,
    that about wraps it up,
        yeah, that's about it.
Kia ora.