Posted in Love


Had it been a university
he might have been made Emeritus Professor
or Reader
or Fellow.
Not so much sidelined as blindsided
by cunning – his rival’s
amalgamation : two research facilities – one position –
double or quits?
He couldn’t – his pension dependent on finishing his time –
five years –
brief when developing a research programme –
when not allowed any useful purpose.

He had only a few months left when I started
by then had been the subject of joke
and ridicule, ….. for four and half years
many did
I did once –
about his zero productivity.
One of the old staff looked at me sadly
and said,
“yes, but when he was the boss, things were done properly then.”



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.