Posted in Rituals

False Alarm

His son said the policeman visited
unusual for such a high rank to house call
surprised – his father
as was the officer with the admission.
“Yes. I did. And do.”–
One room, two very surprised people.
“So, you know it’s illegal
oh yes
and continue to ….

The policeman asked if he would now desist.
The son said he never admired his father more –
“ it’s not going to go away,
only increase,
they can come to my pharmacy and get a new syringe
and clean needles –
no questions asked,
the alternative is hepatitis .. and the rest.”
Nor did he ever admire a policeman more –
“ you’re absolutely right, but people are on my back.”
The son said
sometimes at night
a phone call and a muffled voice  “ tomorrow afternoon, 3.30 ”
siren, lights, a squad of uniforms ….

We acted on a complaint announced the district commander,
and found nothing.




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.