Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry

Sunday evening. Steak and lobster
everybody and their sister comes to supper
Sunday is for church and rest
except essential services
water plant, power plant and kitchen.
The unblessed mess workers
the socially averse, the shy and the misfits
rewarded with duty at the busiest meal
on the busiest day.

2000 steaks 1.5 per person
1000 lobster less than one per person
should either be depleted. Riot.
best not to think about. Or hide.
After cleanup
dishes washed, tables wiped, carpet vacuumed
the weekly science lecture.

Visiting experts talk of research
the secrets of
Antarctic marine life, geology, magnetic physics.
A man walks to the front
taking the microphone from the guest speaker
“ they’ve found them.”

Droning cacophony of kitchen
cocoons worker bees from bush telegraph.
Two employees of the civilian contractor
taking a Sunday afternoon walk take a short cut
depart from the flagged route
and vanish.
Searchers find footsteps
freefalling to a python squeeze crevasse.

17 hours were needed to extract one
23 hours for the second
both died shortly afterward.
The season is three weeks old.

For the back story click Backstage

Veterans were acknowledged with the verbal suffix OAE
OAE: Old Antarctic Explorer
four or more
three seasons the average life cycle in McMurdo
before the pathogens
and
           “Thank you for your application.”
Monotonous.
Drunkenness.
Pissed Offness.
                “We wish you good luck …..”

Our boss had completed 10
“ no come to think of it 12.”
A real OAE
he said a problem thought of, would not become one.
At the arrival briefing he outlined
to the unfamiliar, the familiar
the idiosyncrasies and peculiarities
the traps and the trapdoors.
Been there done that. He had seen it all before.
But this one he hadn’t.

Mail was going out
but not coming in
almost a month of five flights per week
only a sprinkling cards and letters.
No one knew why
shrugged shoulders and upheld palms
from the postman, “shit happens man.”

After 10, no 12 seasons
uncharacteristically at a loss for explanation
unable to offer solace to one young charge
a first timer writing love, to his love
receiving nothing in return
wonders if she still does.

He is moved to easier duties
better accommodation
the boss good with these things
workmates told to look out for Charles
to ask about Susan – discreetly of course.

The monsoon arrives
cloudbursts of letters
equilibrium is restored – a sigh heaved.

Perhaps it was a challenge
young men hunters by nature
and here with so few women
a chance to be an alpha male.
At the end of a five-month season
Charles had spent three in a knowing bed
I wonder if he still wrote to Susan.

For the back story click Backstage

Saturday, day nine
work six days per week
rest on the Sabbath
even here
in the most heathen of places.
Saturday night out on the town
four bars and at least two parties.

The Acey Deucey most popular
spoken of as “ The Doocee”
transplanted from any small town anywhere
most frequent habitat the Mid West or South.

Jukebox. Check.
Pool table. Check.
Foos ball. Check.
Smokey. Check.
Poorly lit. Check.
Rednecks. Check.

Long, thin, low ceilinged
elbows glued to counter
thrust back butts overhang stools
what the fuck are you looking at stares.
eyes front.
“Bud, Stroh’s, Miller.” No other conversation.

The first full week of the season
the first night all bars are open.
In ‘The Doocee’ on opening night. 12 fights
shore patrol is busy.

On Monday morning at Captain’s Mast
no one knows nothing
or heard
only saw distantly.

“ Some dude jumped the pool queue
some dude crashed the Jukebox
some dude squeezed some chick’s butt
some dude kicked a table over.’’
Witness after witness.

The captain said
“ boy when this guy Some Dude shows up
is he for it.”

For the back story click Backstage