Posted in Rituals


There were no match officials
or uniforms.
No prepared surface or ground staff
no teammates or substitutions,
no time out, no quarters or halves, or change of innings.
No expensive equipment or sponsor’s logo,
no experts or media, but

video analysis by iPhone
uploaded to forever.

Toy Warehouse bat and ball
suburban park
urban buffer 101 landscape
bounding dog of no pedigree
and backpack brother or sister.



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.