Posted in Passages


Aged 30, the song sang of
of each generation deriding the one before.
We were homeowners by then
clamped to work and bank by interest rates
14.75%, down from 15.25%
how we rejoiced at the fall – the odd bottle of wine
limbo danced under the fiscal door.
clenched teeth at our parents generation –
government assistance to first home buyers
3% state backed loans
Keynesian benevolence underwriting full employment.

A mortgage repaid lifetime later
a friend’s 21-year-old
inventories the financial yokes of his generation :
student loans
high housing costs
health insurance,
his peers will do it tough he says because
the baby boomers fucked it up –
eating the goose that laid the golden egg.





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.