Posted in Chutzpah

Inside Oil

Friday afternoon, Physical Chemistry –
quantum mechanics, orbitals, spin states
the mathematics beyond intimidating
downright scary
most are like six-year-olds, when
first encountering long division.

Little wonder the end of the week pub lunch
tempted most to stay on
usually, propriety, reluctantly flipped the devil away
but occasionally –
“ I guess I’ll get the notes from someone.”

One of the cohort did, then thought better –
turning up 30 minutes into a 50 minute class
tried to sneak in but poor timing
the lecturer had just turned around from the board
“ is it worth coming now,”
sarcasm triple coated each word
“ well, it sounded awfully interesting from outside.”



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.