Posted in Rituals


Work, employment, jobs,
even the best have parts wished bypassed
or dumped,
this one had been – on me.
The nexus to function seemed tenuous, remote,
a predominantly female staff
issuing their uniforms.

There’s no way around it : “ what size?”
Size – one of the things woman don’t want to tell men.

Ghastly – the most shapeless thing human or God ever designed
if God, it must have been at 4.59pm on the sixth day,
as plain as newsprint
as couture as an army blanket.

I once asked if they wanted to change
absolutely not, they’re great, we like them : unanimous
understanding descended.
The woman who made them was clever with tailoring
and smart with size –
12 equals 10
14 equals 12
16 equals 14




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.