Posted in Antarctica


Aluminium and rectangular
I had never seen one
but knew immediately – closing shadow in a dark street
camera flash alert to a different future.
The doctor said I could go
the plaster cast hard enough.
I could hear the removers behind the curtains.

Good news often takes the scenic route
bad news the expressway – always.
My workmates already knew. And how.
A big night out
very much worse for wear
his buddies had put him to bed
to sleep it off. Forever.

In the passenger shack
the command pilot briefed travellers
demonstrating the fitting of life jackets
immersion suits and ear plugs
how to exit the aircraft on the ground
and in water.


“ tonight we’re carrying a body
a Hercules is a working aircraft
you’re free to move around the cargo hold
. . . . . . just think how you’d feel if it was your brother.”

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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