They knew it was coming,
but grief is different off the spreadsheet,
may be more easily herded by surprise.
He had never been good in the house
had to learn –
and one day a frantic call to grandma,
nine-year-old needs regulation white knickers under skirt –
sometimes …… only just …..
but he did.
The youngest graduated university to solid career,
his job is done. His time up,
he has missed her so long, just wanted to be together again.
No one judged.
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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