For Grog

This is my ode to the national drink
To the juice that makes you squint, squirm and lower your head in shame
Only to rise in proud stance to the call TAKI

This is for the first timers and avid fans
For those who wear their badges in scaled degrees
On their hands and knees (all over in fact)
This is for the conversations that flow along with the drink
Slowly winding down to a quiet contemplation
Each person wondering whose brave enough to call the next round

TAKI
The magic word sounds
The drink of the gods pours down
The poison spins round
This, well this is for the sounds of the frantic search for chaser
This is for the crackle of sweet wrappers
And the suckling sounds of mango skin sucked dry of all flavour

This is for the various ways of drinking
Some like they want to swallow the bilo along with the juice
Other’s like sipping hot tea
This is for the grimace and complaints of a strong mix, or the odd call that it’s too waicala
Served high tide, low tide, or in between
The levels dropping as the hours fly

This is for the different sized bilos used
And even the variety of substitutes
Ranging from mugs to porcelain bowls
Even the odd wine glass for the classy connoisseur
This is for the odd bucket, basins
And other odds and ends
That serves as the majestic tanoa

This is for reconciliation
For the weddings, funerals, birthdays, anniversaries
Class or family reunions, the odd encounter
The coincidental meet at the market
Rugby World Cups, Super 14’s and other rugby championships
And those moments when our thirst gets the better of us

This is for the yaqona of Fiji
The Ava of Samoa, Kava from Tonga
The Awa of Hawaii
And that potent stuff served in Nakamal’s in Villa, Noumea, Moresby and Honiara
Also in kitchens, grog shops, backyards, front porches
Vatuniloa’s, mango trees, village houses, sugarcane fields, University campuses
The list is endless
Those places where grog is served with relish
Whether five star or not

This is my ode to the magic of the call
TAKI