Henry – unusual amongst the utilitarian Johns,
Robs, Toms, Daves, Mikes,
not that he was ever called by that name,
somehow the Y had been amputated from his first
an added to his last –
A favourite pastime: disparaging our teachers
the hierarchy of bastards
Drakey said –
Campbell had to be excluded,
was disqualified –
“ because he’s honest.
He is a prick. We know he’s a prick,
he knows he’s a prick.
We know he knows he’s a prick.
He knows we know he’s a prick,
he was good to deal with
he didn’t pretend to be anything, except a prick.”
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.
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