Posted in Rituals


Good news can be mistaken –
phew, it’s okay, but it’s not
but bad – terminal – a look that can’t feign
you just know..

The technician called the boss over,
but I already knew
he came to the counter –
“….. It’s had it ….
…much more cost-effective to get a new one,
I’lI get that organized.”
Truth speaks what proof of purchase hasn’t yet
but will
“ it’s more than a year old …. outside warranty ..
The tone is stern – very – but not in dispute,
“ I don’t care about a piece of paper
I’m not having anyone say they bought a machine from me
and it only lasted 15 months
you’re having a new one. No charge.”



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.