Posted in Passages

Compound Interest

In my mid-forties
a woman in her mid 20’s
offered $15,000.
Or rather to raise my credit the same amount
thought $5,000 not enough,
that $20,000 would be more useful.
“ You never know when you might see something you want.”
– A new car?
– First class flight to London?
– Deposit on a Rembrandt?
Thanks so much I’m happy how it is.

The missing transaction is located – the bank’s error
apologies and wide, white smile
business complete, leave taking commences
“ I could raise it to $25,000 if you would prefer.”

Then, in my mid 20’s I sat waiting
waiting to be brought to the Loans Approval Officer –
a woman in her mid-forties.
After presenting the request, I am frisked with a frown
she wonders why the appointment was made –
it’s not policy to offer mortgages to applicants such as me.
my income is good and career stable –
a highly regarded employer in a reliable sector.
– Yes, but gender and marital status – young and single
they require caution,
the bank has to be responsible,
 “ we can’t just throw money around.”



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.