Posted in Passages


It was always busy, especially on Friday and Saturday nights
a kind of, camaraderie of browsing
and certainty –
in and out literally for some,
others taking time.
The staff were knowledgeable and friendly
a mixture of enthusiasts, anoraks, part-timers
and David – resident expert, who really did know everything –
everything about film –
making good recommendations and astute cautions
– yes, you’ll like that… no it’s not for you.
He just seemed to know what someone would and wouldn’t like.

Be adaptable and smart say the marketing gurus.
They were – for 25 years
shifting from VHS to DVD to Blu-ray
with clever pricing and first-rate catalogue
until cable and Netflix.

It’s gone now, a café and bakery eviscerated
then painted over memory. Nothing remains,
where did they go?
What happened to David and his rare talent?



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.