Posted in Chutzpah


 For while in the 1970’s, television was liberal
difficult to imagine that the flagrance of cyberspace
impotence, unfaithfulness, homosexuality
were once designated contentious, controversial
and shocking
but they were.
An afternoon weekday panel show
agony aunt-ed them in public along with the mundane anxieties
of in-laws, teenagers, finances and neighbours
discussions were lively, often witty,
the ratings fantastic –
many pretended not to watch while,
trying to find an excuse to watch.

The host was plump and complacent, literally and figuratively
genial –
except obvious dis -chemistry with one panel member
eventually, two lines must intersect
a quiet afternoon, nothing controversial until
the submitter has been reading Cosmopolitan and of a new type of orgasm –
the descriptor cannot yet be said out loud.
The host with a grin to make Jack Nicholson proud
turns to the least favoured
and asks if she would like to answer
“ good God,” she proffered
“ in this day and age do people still have orgasms.”



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.