Posted in Love

Speaking Up

Packed,
closer than economy
less distance than a movie theatre
when directed to stand – football stadium elbow to elbow.

It couldn’t have been easy
addressing several hundred people –
at your beloved father’s funeral.
It wasn’t –
the frequent pauses evidenced composure gathering.
She said, “dad wasn’t a do-gooder
didn’t like the term
but liked to do good,
he liked to help people pass their exams,
get a first home,
find a job.”

Find a job –
10 years away
and the economy petulant – it was difficult, very difficult.
No one would give work,
to someone who wasn’t –
“ where are you at the moment?’ –
……… scratch.
He fell between acquaintance and friend
still,
he knew something was wrong.
I evaded,
but he persisted.
When I confessed he said
“tell them you’re working for me…. It’s ok, I know you won’t let me down.”

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Author:

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.