For 10 years, he brought vicarious glamour to my parents’ world
not so much namedrop
as name slip –
slipped into conversations
enjoying the association and response.
His fame lasted after his time on centre stage
becoming an emeritus figure
often sought for comment or opinion.
and the fall.
Irish superstitions prevailed in our family
admission to heaven especially
all kinds of caveats could be applied
unmourned souls being considered less eligible.
When the former acquaintance died
there was no mention of a requiem or interment
it passed unacknowledged and unmentioned.
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.
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