Posted in Love


I didn’t know him well – during or after
he didn’t do close, or small talk.
Cryptic –
once saying life was like running
some needed longer than others.
Casual when he employed me – as a casual – for three months,
pro forma felt obliged to offer credentials
seasonal worker he said
“one day’s notice, or eight hours pay.”  Got that.

Perhaps he had nothing to prove
or other responsibilities
wife, three children, large loan and stalking interest rates
left no discretionary attention.
The facts of employment life comprised our longest conversation
I told him about the position
and the interview.
Indigent, newly graduated, it was a great opportunity
“ Tuesday ” – could I have the day off.

He never actually gave permission
he didn’t say “ yes,”
or “okay,”
or even nod.
He stated I needed to be well turned out,
that it was too far to bike
He said, “you can borrow my car.”



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.