Posted in Lies


In the workplace
some live on
even when long gone.
Forever remembered
for humour
for proficiency
for single-mindedness.

Love and respect are not enough
the immortal must frighten as well
known without ever being met
stories diffuse through the workplace ether.
Present and absent. Living ghosts.

She had already been archived
before I was catalogued
the same periodical
different sections. Separate editions
one unread
the other
thumb stained reference.

One afternoon a solemn exodus – a funeral
it is hers.
Respect sighs through the corridors
they don’t make them like that any more
“lucky she wasn’t here when…”

While the hierarchy is absent
a new story
not recycled or framed.

Drinking + driving + dark = death
a man on a bike.
raining apparently
“poorly lit probably
she didn’t mean to
wrong place, wrong time
something that could happen to anybody.”
It is never mentioned again.



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 )

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Connecting to %s