Posted in Chutzpah

Food For Thought

She was the boss,
Head serang
CEO, –
MBA plus distinguished lists of appointments.
Despite her intellect and achievement
and grandeur
her office wasn’t grand,
rather spartan and a little on the small side.

The desk too, tidy and functional
and a little small
especially with three cramped around it
myself, her and a contractor
talking up a submitted tender.

Amid discussion of figures,
and overruns
the CEO pulled open a drawer
plucked a large red apple
and sipper bottle of water.

Crunch, chomp, chomp, slurp
“ how many do you expect on-site?,
Perhaps 30.”
Crunch, chomp, chomp, slurp “ where is your policy
for Occupational Health & Safety?
In the appendix, 5.” Crunch, chomp, chomp, slurp, “ you understand
construction must be completed within a specified period?
“ Thank you.”

She nodded for me to wait behind
crunch, chomp, chomp,slurp
“ What do you think?”
Crunch, chomp, chomp.Slurp.



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.