Posted in Before the Rain

Time Capsule

For a few short weeks
the world travelled an impossibly smooth arc.
No tantrums of weather
or reluctance from invoices.
The trucks always found the right address –
the yard the exact request.
We were like Batman and Robin
rather than knocking out felons, we knocked up fences.

The tone was always apologetic
they hadn’t thought necessary …. but ..…
“realize now we should have ….
could you …. if you have time?” No problem.

Gratitude as currency –
we always got tea,
sometimes home baking
“anything else?” The young mothers would ask.
Bill always had a ready and fresh double entrendre.
Nowadays it would be sexual harassment. They loved 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.