A new poem of mine is online this month at Bywords.ca

It captures a bit of the loneliness and isolation that many of us are feeling in lockdown.

Updating the Address Book

So many listings scratched out

and replaced with newer ones.

Here’s another out of date,

we haven’t been in touch for years.

When we met he lived in old town,

two rooms of a red brick house

leaning toward the St. Lawrence.

He made me tea, and I wondered

if it was safe amid hanging wires

for speakers and an over-worked fan.

One table housed kettle, toaster,

laptop and printer. A bungee

cord held the fridge door shut,

and a girlfriend slept in the other room.

Each place I’ve seen him since

has been a replay of that scene.

Disorder so thorough it must

begin inside, grow soulward with age,

unless saved by some great love.

Or maybe I’m wrong, after all,

you see what you expect to see.

Maybe that first time in Montreal

gave me a label to hang on him,

and maybe the label has faded now.

I may have read it wrong from the start,

it has happened before.

I wish I could see him now.