Posted in Before the Rain

Crystal Ball

We began as workmates.
By day four, we were mates.
It was my work ethic he said,
said, if someone was a good worker,
there wouldn’t be much wrong with them.
20 years later this wisdom became accessible.

We talked, really talked
he was pleased for my academic success.
He’d left education young,
just two years of high school –
becoming a farm labourer and then share milker.
Had lived where he worked
saved his pennies
sinking his money into 15 acres jutting into the harbour.
Madness everyone said
“ totally mad ”
any farmer knew that land had no value –
“too  small,
salt poisoned – no good for cattle or sheep.”

He took me once – one afternoon during work time
–      “ I can sack you too!”
He’d owned it 10 years by then,
“ it’ll be valuable one day son – you mark my words.”

In the 2000’s it back dropped the America’s Cup,
capital gain : stratospheric.



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.