(steampunk poem originally published in PNZ 43)
Cargo dirigibles may be a common
sight for residents of Auckland, Melbourne,
Brisbane, Sydney or Christchurch, but the airship
might as well have been a flying jinn
to most Djakarta, Java residents
on Friday when a delegation from
the Australasian Common Area --
gawking right back at them -- climbed rope ladders
down into negotiation mode with
waiting priyayi. Humidity streamed
down tanned faces, moistened Dundee hats, &
often wiped the etchasketch of thought
like regularly beating gongs. ‘The Caliph
peace be upon him would like an airship’
‘...preferential trading...’ ‘Yes...’ ‘Moluccan
spices...’ ‘...in exchange for which the Caliph
peace be upon him will build trendy teal mosques
all over your countries...’ ‘Up yours, mate’... &
so, like compost, inconclusive talks
proceeded for twelve awkward, throbbing hours...
