Posted in The Twelve Pack


It was my first time in his office,
I was the contractor’s representative
he, the client –
a big client
a million-dollar tender when $100,000 gave change, on a good house.

Sometimes it’s 50/50
but this was 55/45 – at best
probably 60/40
more than marginal, not quite blatant.

Newly promoted
freshly installed
staff confidence is fence sitting –
not yet of an opinion to stay
or migrate.
I said, I knew I was asking a lot,
but I really had to win this one.

Throughout he had not interjected
asked for clarification
or shown emotion.
Now, he removed his glasses,
looked directly at me and said, “ yes, you do.”




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.