Posted in Love


Before cyberspace and ATM’s
banking was leisurely and simple.
Monday to Friday 10 am to 4 pm –
no exceptions.
For travellers a dilemma,
an early morning departure
and frantic journey,
or a bundle of notes, carefully concealed.
For cyclists,
a complex algorithm, calculate a reasonable arrival time
multiply by the certainty of a headwind and add the spite of terrain.

A long day looms
a cash injection is needed.
Wait back for the heat
or push hard?
The latter is chosen
slow hours on a sinister road.
Late. And cold. Simple needs,
a hot drink and something sweet.

A quick calculation. Coffee or fruit cake –
separate. Together is not possible,
decision : hot drink more beneficial to internal warming.
An invisible woman witnesses resolution of the quadratic.

In the echoing eating space
she becomes visible and sits adjacent,
coffee slides down, almost,
eyes meet.
She waves a hand over a plate
“my eyes were bigger than my stomach,
I’m full,
would you like it ”– fruit cake.



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.