BY PETER  SEVARA

Far from the freeway, near my house
of used materials and twenty people.
A toilet and shower fed by buckets of water
Firewood for the makeshift kitchen.
Son is celled-up crying mama;
Daughter happily rides an oiled-up sugar papa.
Mama plays Queen twenty four seven,
Papa stands King at the bar of every tavern.
Eda Ranu doesn’t give a piss
PNG Pawa is a rain scared miss.

Far from my house, near my street
Footpath-less tracks and non-existent lights…
Carjacking, pick-pocketing and street fights…
Betelnut splashed roads, corrugated high barbwire fences
Rubbish-clogged, open-air, sewerage-drains
Any day drink-ups and unauthorized traffic officers
Government officers boozing and blasting his car stereo.
Bitch full drunk, snorting in the back seat.
Police come panel beat…questions asked later…
Emergency room is waiting room
You wait until you’re an emergency

Far from my street, near the freeway
Four people cram the door, balance like a yachter
Anywhere’s a bus-stop; everywhere’s a cushion-less seat
Incomplete routes, police and transport road block
Officer walks by taxi, slyly picks up his tip and says ‘ok go’
Splayed on the canvassed roof, sing your forefathers memories
Smooch the yellow-top mama; fling her up in the air
Let her glitter on the pothole ridden coal-tar.

Give the driver his beer!
Piss drunk, he’s a seer…
Freeway ah?
Free…no challenges, no threats, no holdbacks;
Ways…roads, access, actions….
There are no challenges on this road, no threats to this access, no holding back of any action.
You are permitted entry and exit anytime, you have easy access to anything and everything. Do whatever action you want…do not hold back...’
A freeway…built far from the squatters, illiterate, and inaccessible
Fuck if you think I’m too drunk to drive! This is the real me!

Peter Sevara (29) was born in Port Moresby.  He loves everything Papua New Guinean