Posted in Passages

Warp 30

In My Life Billy Joel sang of
receiving a call from an old friend
an old friend who had once been real close.
I did, and we were, three decades before
BC – before children and wife who
didn’t think of me the right company for her husband.
Win some – lose some
I largely did.

Now, outgrown by children, abandoned by wife
that most suburban of abandonments – running off someone else
tickets to a rock concert, he has a spare
the holder unable to and I am the 15th choice
fifth actually – but truth should
own up not a great fan will go if no one else doesn’t.

Beer and fries before
park and pushed through throngs
strobe lights and dry ice
screeching soprano guitar
big tonsilled vocalist
testes descended the voice bass and drums
men in BLACK
woman in tight, tight jeans
sweaty bodies,
haze and the scent of marijuana.
Time travel



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.