Posted in Before the Rain


The tasks were become familiar.
I no longer felt like a person wearing new clothes,
for the first time …
terminally self conscious.

I learned the names of their children,
wives ,
husbands –
building a database …..
….  where they had been before
and how long they’d been here.
It seemed to be working.

People were more willing
perhaps I was not so infuriatingly earnest.
Less like a zealous convert,
eager to share salvation.

Co-workers began to talk of topics other than work
some remained distant
I seem to have passed the test,
if not popular –
considered all right.
Belonging : a wonderful feeling.



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.