Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry

It was called scullery
the place where returned dishes were washed
glasses, cutlery, plates, cups
the detritus of dinner for 1200.
It was my first day
they had been before.

Rinse, scrub, sterilise
they knew the drill.
I load and unload the machine
skipping from jaws to anus
of a 3 metre beast – of heat, noise and steam
which stops – unannounced.
The senior
squat, brick outhouse muscular
with chest thatch escaping his t shirt
onto shoulders
and down his back
bellows energetically
“kick it in the cunt.”
“Yeah,” growls the other without enthusiasm
“kick it in the cunt.”

I am motionless
with a grin to Jack Nicholson nervous
the hirsute one advanced on the machine.
“EEEEEyaaah,” overtures a roundhouse kick
it burst back into life.
“That’s how you do it.”
I spent the rest of the shift praying it wouldn’t stop again

For the back story click Backstage.

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

The lurching stops
eager first timers stand up
one final lurch tosses me sideways.
Sophomores and greater, laugh
“ fin gees,” echoes through the cabin.

fng
[ fin gee]
noun
Antarctic slang : abbreviation for fucken new guy.

The man says, “ bags ain’t ready man
go to chow
bags might be dragged den.”
Where to collect them ?
“there man …… .”
he smiles and walks to an empty space
“dey be here …. when dey here.”
He is tall, beautiful and black, with fabulous teeth. And rhythm
the women can’t keep their eyes from him.

In the mess hall everybody stands in line
aluminium tray in hand
shuffling slowly forward
fans waiting admission to the game.

“ It’s not months
it’s not weeks
it’s not days
IT’S FUCKING MINUTES.”
A man rushes up the in corridor
and down the out corridor
holding a wrist watch aloft and pointing at the hands.
“Going home,” says the person behind me
“ winter does that to people.”                    For the backstory click Backstage