Posted in Unexpected

Found and Lost

Relentlessly cheerful
she worked 9 a.m. to 3:30 p.m.
and called everybody dear
the type of office manager every workplace needs.
Pay slips?
Sick leave?
Bereavement entitlement?
“Paid. Here. One week per year of employment. Three days.”
Quick. Definitive. Unequivocal.
Solutions with a smile
even at lunchtime – if urgent.

I was sure we had paid it
so was she.
“One place it might be
try the third drawer down”
I did.
It was
with a fortnight’s timesheet – hers
filled in for 80 hours.



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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