Posted in Unexpected

Equal Opportunity

The community was young, very young
hedonistic, promiscuous and migratory
migration here every summer
for money …. and accomplice desires.

The old-timers said the old days were better
no women and no chance
things were clear-cut
everybody knew the odds – zero the new equal.

The tide of women’s rights rises with the decades
reaching even here the last, loneliest fraternity house
the fair sex
fair game it would seem.

Progress predictable and well mannered in the laboratory
can prove very independent in the field
abandoning the freeway for the blue highway.
How to get a woman in Antarctica? Be one.



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.