Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry

It was called Rome
like the city.
Before the reconstruction
before the college dormitoryization of the base
McMurdo Station staff quarters
were uncontrived eclectic
subversive buildings
with wonderfully individualistic names.

A group of half a dozen
known predictably as the six-pack
then following addition, the nine pack.
A trio located on a rise between street and ocean
three by the Sea
two in the middle
one for the road.

And Rome, origin archaeological
rumour said construction was late. Very
not built in a day.
Lounged with large windows framing the sound
landscaping Mt Discovery.
Stunning.
It was ours
designated quiet and non-smoking
two rare species in Antarctica.

Day eight – Friday night
at home
the weekend is born – and drinks.
A C141 squat and green
crawls down the sea ice runway
improbably airborne
heading north
to civilization, fresh food, dark and rain
“wish you were on it,” a man walks by.
I did.

For the back story click Backstage

Work finishes at 2 p.m.
back ache clocks off 30 minutes later.
The boss has a clipboard
holding up calming palms to furrowed brow
“we have a room for you.”
The fourth in six days
Permanent – until end of season in late February
or I break the rules.

Antarctica was full of practical jokes
new people easy prey
being encouraged to
sign up for a shower
avoid drinking too much libido suppressing water
walk to Hut Point to see turtles lay eggs
not to forget milk powder when mixing iced tea.

The door is reluctant – a waist sucked squeeze
the room frozen in time and space
filled with winter blown snow
admitted by duplicitous cracks
expanding like popcorn and freezing

Feigned amusement
insincere mea culpa owns up
chuckling at the boss for the real room
acknowledging the trick of a snow filled one.
He is talking with three burly forklift operators
his look says, ‘far out.’
the other three telegraph
‘Faggot.’
‘Fairy.’
‘Fuckwit.’

Tolerance speaks, “there’s probably a shovel in the lounge.”
Puzzlement.
He turns to the other three
eyebrows raised and complicit.
The biggest and hairiest
bends at the knees
grunting
grunts providing acoustic corroboration of Darwin
accompany shovelling motions.

My back aches
eight hours bending over a sink
too low for tall people
too high for short.
Washing mixing bowls
roasting pans
cookie trays
the stainless steel and aluminium framework
needed to build meals for 1200.
Echoed warnings from the interview
work is hard – and without glamour.
Right.

At shift’s end we move again.
The third night
the third bed
the third building.

Bottleneck
or cock up
our accommodation is not ready
the boss hopes this the last temporary berth
but makes no promise
anything can
and does happen – reason never necessary.

Bleak beyond belief
high walled double canvas tent
MASH era
flickering fluorescent tubes cast hostage light.
Twenty 1950’s wire strung hospital beds
ten down each side.
Open plan.

Lights out
dishes whirl past
dreams.
Sleep bursts awake
directly opposite
in full view
bill boarded by complicit fluorescence
a naked woman.
I thought I’d died and gone straight to heaven.

For the back story click Backstage