August Poetry: The man who never knew his mother's name  

A poem by Kath Beattie
Kath Beattie is a Dunedin writer with many publications to her name. One of her poems was the winner of the 2017 Poems in Waiting Rooms poetry competition, judged by Jillian Sullivan. She is also a main organiser of the Otago Writers' Network. 

The man who never knew his mother's name

He hugs the corner of the bar
a faceless op shop jacket, a baseball
cap worn straight, his fingerless
gloves clasped round a jug.
It's all he can afford, that and a big mac.
He's always first to go, an easy target
in the job market. In the old days
he smoked a fag, ground the stub
on a paua shell and lit another
until the prices doubled, his dole
stretching just to meet the rent
at the boarding house where no heat
emanates and it isn't worth the hassle
of asking for a brew. As customers
come and go he shrinks into the shadows
and runs his hands up and down the tankard
as if waiting for a gene to appear.

He stays till time is called, midnight,
two what does it matter? His room is bare
and bleak and it helps him stop inventing
his mother's name, her facial shape
the colour of her hair and some evenings
maybe once a week someone says
'gidday mate' even when they're not.