Posted in Antarctica


It took weeks the first-time.
Letter of application. Wait.
Interviews. Wait.
Medical examination. Wait.

Finally a date and flight
latitudinal only – time stays constant.
On arrival corralled as sheep into a freighter
deposited at the mess hall, fed
and then briefed.

He has been here many times before
and seen it all before.
Quiet authority pours the concrete of rules.
They are not for discussion
will not be heard again
except as echo in departure. Certainty chills the room.

By way of conclusion
another issue needs to be explained
some seasoned hands are…….. individuals
but good people and good workers
it would be helpful to reserve judgement and expect surprise.

In the lounge
early the next day – my very first
that distinctive click
and hiss
attention spins to the command of unbelief.
A man is casually relishing a Budweiser
flat faced
and flat voiced, “I love a beer before breakfast.”

For the back story click Backstage



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.

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