Posted in Passages

Crossed Roads

What the hell was he doing there unsupervised?
– An arterial road at 8:20 a.m,
work traffic, school traffic, out of city traffic
a zebra crossing
he did …. then didn’t
stepping on … then off … to the edge
then away.
Would have been called intellectually handicapped once
not sure what the now politically bowdlerised  would be.
He is confused,
vehicles are confused stop .. go… go …stop … back on the curb.

I can’t – a 50-year-old male –
out of the question, but
it’s just  a matter of time until ….
I see an early 40’s woman, parking her car
I point and explain.
Got it she says
she takes him by the hand, to the other side.
She can – I couldn’t,
it’s the way the world these days
men are in danger, helping a child in danger.



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.