Posted in Passages


Age: past, present and future
12 years a long time when someone is 13,
the other 25,
more so when the other’s father is 52.
I’m not sure the three ever met – before
they could have,
a father and son might encounter a schoolyard,
or out of uniform pupil.
Perhaps they did, probably didn’t
but that did all meet – sort of : once
circumstances knocked.

Son called on his father early one Sunday
never knew why – had been just the day before
finding him in bed,
he didn’t bother with any shaking,
or CPR – he just knew.
The doctor signed the certificate and called the undertaker –
the former pupil, who gave instructions to his teacher
just the two of them and the third
aged 48, 60 and 87
the years of no significance.



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.