Posted in Before the Rain



An egg shell walk to reception –
early of course.
A friendly greeting and enquiry,
the reply already listened to.
She knows why I am here.
A polite directive to an empty chair.

In a hallway,
outside a closed door.
Sounds are prospected –
silence is good. Laughter bad.
Nervous adjustment of clothing,
furtive rearranging of keys and wallet
– the bladder tightens.

Break a leg : facts, + charmlist

1. Recall what was submitted.
2. Imagine likely questions and potential traps.
3. Play it cool, but not cold.
4. Be warm, not hot
5. Act affable, but not familiar – that might be thought glib.
6. Think fast and be adaptable, this is the big league.

The longest wait,
longer than the dressing-room,
longer than the altar.
The door opens. You’re on – now.

Two days later a phone call.
an unnecessary question
is interest still valid? “YES”. We would like to offer…
Victory. The winner. The chosen one.
Some feelings lived longer,
none was this intense.



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.