Deb Curreen Author

 "Last glass of karma, anyone?" the waiter formly known as 24 asks us. "I'll have one," I signal to 25. "Will that be with or without a slice of lemon?" "Depends?" Is it sour? I wonder to myself, questioning the universe, and God above, that laughing bitch called Life, and the Mistress of Karma. "Could I have a cherrie instead?" 25 nods. A sweet one please, I murmur to the burnt grass roots beneath my vegan sandals. Just joking. My sandals aren't vegan,  neither are my intentions. The burnt grass bothers me though. It didn't deserve this...this burning. How innocent is the grass and the planet? Gaza, the Ukraine, the homeless on the Auckland streets and Americans who got duped into voting for an orange man, instead of a black woman. I might skip the glass of Karma. "Give me whiskey on the rocks, smooth ones,"  I say, "the rocks and the whiskey." I anoint my heart with oakiness and settle back to wait for ...

 The cattle on a thousand hills  nestle against silent macrocarpa limbs as dusk creeps over the horizon. My gaze lingers on a settled harbour boats nodding in the last rays of the day, dogs bark from a distant farm,  drowning out the turkeys warble. 💖💥💧💦🐂🐑🐝 See you in the morning, hills of grace, skies of serenity, waters of friendship. Wake me up life, in all your fullness, with deep cups of caffeine in the dawn's parting light, as I bid a hearty good night, to the last glass of Shiraz.

 I might not see you again, for awhile, living a big wide ocean apart. But I enjoyed our korero, round the table at Taemaro Bay, post Christmas,  on a rainy Boxing Day. You might not like Chardie, I don't know, but I got a fancy bottle of the stuff for Christmas, so I'd like to think that we'd have a glass of Chardonnay, or maybe two, before you go. Thanks to you, I'll never spread my toast with bitterness, on special occasions or any time that matters. I'll keep eating my fried bread with jam, forget the kina splatter. And your stories gave me much to think about, that will stay...not just in the Bay, but in my brain and in my heart, something to write about while you're away. I might not see you again, Rick, as we're worlds and oceans apart, me at my writing desk, you in your salon making hair art. But just before you go, if you would like to, let me know. Let's toast with one last glass of Chardonnay, as we farewell the year and beautiful Taemaro Bay.