Posted in Passages


exclusive and exclusionary
the property of those who are
like being a smoker, you are or aren’t
someone is, or isn’t.
I always had been.
A cousin’s wedding, must end at midnight
the young going out afterwards –
I wait for the invitation
it doesn’t arrive.
The young have decided, I no longer am.



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.