Her hair is the disheveled label of manic misadventure,
her grey coat splattered with the drool of depression
her shoes, each different and each well-worn, schizophrenic.
She shuffles from doorway to doorway smiling,
her eyes deep dark orbs that have seen discrimination in all forms,
her lips tight shut and stern, afraid to speak her mind.
She welcomes intrusion as a safety net from a crazy world,
the taste of liquor the only medication that made her happy,
her wrists and forearms scarred with the doctors promise.
Now she passes like a will o the wisp, shameless and without guilt,
her mind swimming in her dressing state, tomorrow a string bikini
in a Wellington wind bent on sending everyone to hell and back.
Tonight she will dine in the bins outside Maccas and BK,
tonight she will drink from half fill bottles,
tonight she won’t dare dream about the kids she left behind.
Copyright © 2010 Thane W. Zander
Thane Zander has lived all over New Zealand, either as an itinerant child (Father moving to jobs from deepest south to farthest north) or as a 27 year veteran in the Royal New Zealand Navy. He was struck down with Bipolar Disorder in 2000 and has since moved “back” to Palmerston North and environs. The onset of Bipolar Disorder also heralded his entry into the poetry world, and from 2000 to 2005 he had written around 250 poems. This accelerated from 2006 to well over 1000 poems, and counting.