Pukeko
We drive up to Pukeko on her back on Poplar Ave
with her legs batting the air which is nothing like the ground and frantic wing-swooshing is fruitless. Desperate Pukeko doesn’t want to die, me neither Pukeko. Pukeko’s boyfriend is panicking at the grass-edge, they are yelling to one another, oh no, oh no! Something terrible has happened! Oh, oh, oh! Dad stops the car and is getting out. Elise and I watch Dad walk over to Pukeko thrashing in the road and Pukeko is so unhappy and very unready to die and Pukeko is mad can’t even think— Dad puts his big calm hand on Pukeko’s tummy. Pukeko stops thrashing, oh, I think Dad can probably feel her heart go, a bit slower, a bit slower. Dad carries Pukeko to the grass-edge, stroking her feathers with his big sad hand, holds her carefully like a baby, never looks away. He puts her on the grass next to her boyfriend who is going, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, stepping towards her body on his big deliberate legs sort of saying, no, no, no, no, where are you going, can I come too, Pukeko is saying, sorry, baby, sorry, no. Dad is walking back to the car now, really slow.
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