Posted in Passages


For many years he occupied special affection for my rage
nothing quite fulfilled it like the thought of a chance meeting
and being fantastically obnoxious.
Or four letter word contemptuous –
gratuitously insulting,
like Anthony Hopkins in Silence of the Lambs
Paul Newman in The Sting
or Jack Nicholson in anything.
Even now,
after amputation has faded to occasional phantom pain
I still mourn for the job
and wish he had been stronger, or less timid.

The position could have been renewed
but he was not long the boss
eager to please, and eager to avoid been difficult
or a nag.
Collateral damage – what is the loss of a junior lieutenant
to a just minted colonel hoping to be a general?

The rage is gone now, placed with envy
– slightly disdainful or strained envy,
but envy still.
He had the opportunity to exercise moral judgement
to stand up to his superiors for what he knew to be right,
most never get that chance.



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.