Posted in Unexpected


When she asked I hesitated
thinking the answer would be mistaken
for flippancy, for denigration, for shallowness
temptation almost delivered
then paused
as if being thought about
“nnnooo…. nothing I can think of.”

The face opposite is attentive
the tongue within unfamiliarly still.
For the past seven days
procedures and protocols explained had been dismissed

Now the last afternoon
the last will and testament.
Did the departing one have any advice?
Eyes invite confidence
silence gathers and yields
exhaling a single sentence : absurd and true.

“If I had talked more and worked less
I would have been more successful.”
The strangest bequest
living about to be ghost – dead men tell no tales or lies.

Confession unexpected and brutal
a space which words cannot enter
sternness is abandoned
a hand is placed on the defeated knee
the tone is soft
“it hasn’t been easy here for you has it.”



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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