Posted in Love

Personal Delivery

Ours was a nearly neighbourhood
good enough …. and not quite –
destination and stopover
strivers could claim respectability
climbers, a comfortable ascent camp.
The amenities above average
the schools, much better than that,
no ragamuffins in the juniors
high school blazer and tie for boys
kilt and hat for girls.

High and junior – both
he must’ve been 16
she, six,
each morning
side by side
in step, stepping to school.

Crouching at the elementary gate
a squeeze of shoulders and promise –
to be back at day’s end
visual confirmation she has sanctuary
backpack swung to insouciance
ear buds inserted
texting fingers begin workout,
a teenager again.
Unselfconscious about uncoolness,
he loves his little sister.



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.