Posted in Rituals


An old family business
fourth generation
it hadn’t been present at the town’s birth
but watched it grow up
find its way in the world
become a city.
Returns were solid
not exciting, even to accountants
but the real estate was
not quite yet …… but it would be …… just wait.

Corporate predator
asset poacher
showing the money – sign where?
Great grandson took the loot
the staff weren’t needed
but the parent company could absorb them – no payouts then.

A payout was just what he wanted
would solve his mortgage
he could finish his degree – on hold for years.
The takeovers sent him to interviews
for six months, he practised insubordination
living an applicant’s dream
being smart arsed and lippy
determining exactly what they sought
and speaking precisely the opposite.

The employer blinked
he got paid out
none of the others did.



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.