It was a threat
delivered as question
large part brinkmanship
small part condescension
successful in the past
a sheep dog’s scowling fangs
intended to cower
not bite
to direct compliance
in compliant direction.
She said
do you want to separate?
“Okay.”
Most of my life has been spent on the bench, occasionally called into the game by extravagance or attenuation. Waiting has turned a loner into a recorder - nondescript and inconsequential, more not noticed than overlooked - the non-vantage point of children not yet considered old enough to understand.
Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry is a lifetime of picking anecdotes up and not throwing them away. Stories collected like odds and ends placed in a box in the basement, the garage, the garden shed - uncertain as to what their use might be but knowing that one day there might be one.
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Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry 