Posted in Lies

Out Manoeuvred

The night lengthens
the odds shorten.
Twenty years older
a former hippy and a challenge
two moves left
if they can be completed. Success.

A chance meeting and invitation to coffee
extended to dinner
it was all she meant, but hope had other thoughts.
Interest feigned in her past and the women’s issues
to which she attached great importance.
Any port in a storm
and one anchorage very attractive.

I am a rarity she said
a man who listens.
Camomile tea, natural, artificial chocolate
closer proximity.
Could we hold hands? “Yes.”

Tales of the 1960s and a river commune
folk music
vegetarianism and nudity.
Men flocked
claiming self development as intent
but sex was their instinct
some women were very gullible. Apparently.

I was different
she could tell.
Thoughtful and empathetic
an interesting companion.
One who appreciated woman for their intrinsic worth
it was reassuring to meet an enlightened man.
by my own deceit.



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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