Posted in Unexpected


On the track
standing above me
she turned and spoke.
“You don’t really want to walk do you?”
A statement. Not an enquiry.

She said I wanted to be with her
was attracted to her.
Stammering retractions and denials
are met with a softer tone
and a slow advance.
anorak tenting breasts – at eye level
knowing dark overthrows uncertain twilight.

A decade and a half older
mother of four
seeking attractiveness, settling for hormones.
“Did I want to go with her?”
Go with her
a euphuism not heard before
but needing no translation
desire passes straight from hope to urgency.

Did I know a place?
A smile gives permission.
One condition
I’m not permitted to look…… stretchmarks.

furtive glances prompt another question.
Had I ever seen a naked woman?
Once at 18
in an indifferent smoky room
where women are paid to remove their clothes.
“That doesn’t count.”
An invitation to a private viewing.



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.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s