Posted in Rituals

Off Duty (Part Two)

It’s almost always possible to pick the person in charge
even when looking incongruously out of place
and bedecked with soft toys.
I tell him it’s a really good thing they’re doing
“mate,” he booms,
tone and volume seldom heard in a hospital
“I’m really pleased to be able to do this.”
And then waves an arm around
“it’s not me
its these guys
they raised the money to pay for it,
a year’s work mate –
a year of, sausage sizzles, bar raffles, quiz nights
I’m really proud of them.”



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.