Posted in Chutzpah

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I didn’t spot it –
the second cook, a wily old sheepdog
who had been on many a mustering
and worked for more than a few musterers, did.

We weren’t close, or even especially friendly
somewhere between acquaintance – and fellow PTA parents.
All the same, she seemed to know,
more understand the story keeper in me,
would appreciate her observation.

From the back row.

“ Watch the boss when the function starts.”

Siren and lights.

“ She will rush I with an important, but overlooked item.”

Line of sight.

“ Something she’s tucked away
not hidden – just shifted out of minds.”

Swallows and summer.

She knows how to look good.
Being good is looking good.

Author:

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.