Posted in Unexpected

Fire Exit

A Soviet day
graphite sky
the corridor sullen
door open – uninviting – expected.

I told her I knew what was about to be said
shoulder shrugged, ”maybe.”
Prepared steel did not hear
fatigue and disappointment admit the failure
appraisal is not required
confession already is.

The kaleidoscope crashes from dark to light
she said she had seen evidence of effort
and didn’t have in mind a lecture
more a deal
a police officer offering to edit evidence.
If the placement report considered a trainee unsuitable
all fees paid would be refunded.

You’ll get your money back she said
if pride staggered on and then withdrew
Not a single dollar. Not one cent.
It’s your call she said
nobody else would know
breaching confidentiality was not in her interests either.



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.