The gallery café is just a few minutes up Mapara Road. Our hosts at Acacia Bay have recommended the eggs benny here.
We park and walk, gravel crunching beneath us. It’s an Eden of painted glass and sculpted kitsch. Look closely and you’ll see everything has a price tag attached optimistically.
Inside, the café is less ostentatious. Just any Kiwi coffee shop where you can get your flat white, your eggs and sausages.
A young, tattooed barista takes our orders. He had that look where he’d rather be in bed or out by the beach but hey, it’s a summer job.
His blue eyes burn, the hieroglyphics on his skin sing.
You ought to be an Adam, all youthful naïveté, entirely without guile. But I much rather you dance like a fallen angel, a Kaneshiro Takeshi stealing a Mr Softee truck and force feeding reluctant passengers ice cream.
Not satisfied with stealing their hearts, you would kidnap their bellies, smearing their lips with rapidly melting soft serve.
You froth fresh milk, the steam wand hissing in pain. Small sacrifice for a boy and his latte art.
You walk over to our table, placing my coffee in front of me. You smile and tell me, “Enjoy.” You’re eager to please.
I smile your work to see. Your rosetta, splitting in steamed milk. You didn’t lower your wand deep enough; you took it out too soon.
You’ll get better in time; all baristas do.
For now you’re all flashing eyes and charcoal sigils on creamy skin, the swirls and whorls already fading. Don’t worship the sun too much; your skin will wither and wrinkle, as mine has, and as it will in time, so why hurry it?
For now you’re all piercings, left ear and right nostril. For now you’re recklessly spent, your apron stained.
For now you’re both lion and lamb, an honest working lad. (And I, ripe enough to be your dad.)
Who could tame your fearless asymmetry? Who would want to? No hammer and no chain could seize you, not unless you ask nicely. You could be Oliver, temerarious, rapacious.
“Please, sir, I want some more.”
You don’t have to ask twice.
With great love for Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, William Blake and Charles Dickens.