Posted in Chutzpah


The first year was a cinch
everything provided :
bed, bedding
warm comfortable room and fully lighted hallways.
Even the food wasn’t too bad …
meals – clockwork – three per day.
What to do on Friday night? –
Join the crocodile exodus to town,
a bar,
a party …
no thought or planning required –
something was always happening.

But now, time is up –
eviction from the womb of the dormitory
to a student flat
and unfurnished.

Everything needed …. where to get?
A friend offers to help
and ferocious bargaining skills
the adviser approves all purchases except –
“ NO  – be an optimist, buy a double bed.”



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.