Posted in Love


I could have told the truth
but didn’t
sometimes fact seems more unlikely than fiction
or more contrived,
more straining of credibility.

My loved one had an accident,
life threatening
brought back from the dead – literally
thank God for vigilance, helicopters
and her brother-in-law.

The rates invoice from the City Council
remained unnoticed and unpaid
by more than a week
when attention remembered – 10% penalty.
Late, I said to the woman to counter
no reason, I knew to … simply forgot …
poor attention,
poor follow-up.

She asked if I had a cheque-book
“ if you write one with the due date
I started … then forgot to complete processing.”




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.