Posted in Antarctica

Credentials (II)

Who hasn’t
gritted teeth
or exhaled
hissing or sighing
“shit wouldn’t stick to him, her, them.”

We were all cock a hoop
hundreds apply
50 are selected
curiosity blends with self-congratulations.
What is sought?

The boss is absorbed by people
as card sharks by new tricks
Happy to talk about the process.

“. . . . . . . and then
someone like Steven
transmitting such strong common sense
certain to be reliable
and not behave badly.”

12 months later
a new summer
another Antarctic season
I inherit Steven’s role at the airfield.
I need someone there I can trust says the boss
swelling pride accepted hurriedly.
Day one
the charge petty officer coiled
lessons learned tough
a sophomore who will not
“have any of that crap of that guy from last year.”

The boss has made a field trip to the airfield
in response to his question
I tell him it hasn’t been easy
that a taste lingers from my predecessor
of laziness
of sloppiness
of brazenness
of couldn’t give a fuckness.

A wide grin breaks to hearty chuckle
“ oh Steven….. he knew it was his last season.”

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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