Posted in Love


He had silver hair
and a baritone voice
when I asked
his three workmates looked directly to him.
The day was hot
the cyclist’s enemy, wind spiteful
in my face – all day.
The most fundamental of mistakes
a stopped watch
20 km per hour x elapsed time = distance travelled
distance travelled – journey’s distance = global position.

They were repairing the road –
shingle, bitumen and sweat.
I asked the time
and how far to the next town
he spoke
“are you tired boy” and
compassion, not words
then answered
“quarter past four, 15 to 20 miles.”

Dust gathered and settled
summer insects flurried in the breeze ….
the imprecise balance of intuition and logic
the coordinates of time and distance have restored equilibrium
this he knows,
but he can see heat, and fatigue .

“We’ll be leaving here at five o’clock
for the town whose position I sought : translation
if I ask, their truck will take me –
cyclist and bike
passenger and freight –
space will be found.



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.