Posted in Love



It doesn’t exist any more
generally and specifically
a drapery – a little everything shop
gloves, hats, scarves, sewing accessories
and stamps, small toys, magazines
owner operated
a woman always – warm and chatty
surviving on cheer, service and lack of staff wages.

The earthquake put the building out of business
the malls, the business.
A winter’s day before the earthquake
and the malls morphed from rival to predator.
Oversight cycled on errands – without gloves.
Turn back? Bravado thought cold not terminal,
besides it wasn’t that far.
Roadworks = detour = never used street
peripheral vision snags on the small red sign – Stamps
yes –
here as good as anywhere.

Small, worn middle-aged palms
give stamps and take money –
“ you should have gloves on a day like this.
Cynicism thinks opportunism
hands reached beneath the counter.
“These were a trade sample … take them, they’re yours.”
Wholesale value? $3-$5. Retail ? $6-$8. Humanity? Priceless



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.