Posted in Passages


What brought it here,
bluff or huff?
Perhaps death, sighed over, lovingly
decision avoided,
delayed, stalled,
then boxed with the rest – like,
muting or looking away from atrocity on TV news.

Thrift: everything,
the shop
the premises
the location
the clientele –
looking for a bargain, or the absurd
dressing for necessity without means – school, work, sport
impact at themed functions.

Superstition, would anyone ? – either for real
or ersatz.
It would have been something it’s time
style, class, price
and distinction – still, even now.
Two dollars and three dollars for every on the racks
but for $9.99, lone displayed,
a sequined beaded, laced, one careful lady owned
bridal gown.



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.