Posted in Before the Rain

Facts of Life

We became friends
like rain in the tropics.
There were no beginnings,
it just began – strong and resolute.

I never quite understood how,
he could have been my father – just.
I could have been his kid bother – just
but ….
age seemed all wrong.
Perhaps it was cricket –
we were both mad about the game.

Whatever the nature of our bond,
he always made time for me
and I sought him out most days …..
animated talk, much laughter and occasional gossip.
Once expecting emphatic denial
I quietly asked about
just heard tittle tattle – that a staff member beat his wife.

He took a long while to answer
then spoke as if much older,

“ You haven’t been here very long …..
in this town, you might know someone’s business,
you don’t mind it for 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.