Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry

A talent quest in a town of 1200 people
more than a thousand potential candidates
small enough for several hours awfulness
big enough for a nugget of gold.

If the purpose was to entertain
the winner did
an obese man who wobble croaked Bob Dylan imitations
so side splittingly awful, the crowd screamed for more.

Other contestants could feel aggrieved
attentive hair, obedient make up, perfect costumes
lines compliant to rehearsal’s insistence
lose to unselfconscious buffoonery.
The runners up especially
a real time couple with a sweet duet of love
a boy meets girl song
one of so many origin is not pondered.
He tall and dark, she petite and olive
an image from television advertisement land.

Truth would admit their costume and theme garishly amateur
but slick choreography – almost professional
opening with her coy
him pleading
shifting to both contemplative
the roulette pauses
then pays out love’s breath clutched bid.

The crowd are enchanted and dopamine released – the winners surely
until the very last act
the nasal grated imitator
complete with cat screech harmonica.
Laughter surrenders to shower singing cringe.

Later that week I visit a friend we talk trivia
people and events and the talent quest
should know better corny confesses sympathy for second place.
A cigarette is ground into an ashtray – darkness.
Outrage trembles
my friend has secret life as a volunteer counsellor
anger displaces confidentiality.
Did I notice the woman from the love song always wore makeup?
“No.”
men don’t – women ascribe vanity – it was to hide the bruises.

Many years later
the boy
who had been head boy
became a figure of professional respect
almost recognizable
a B list celebrity, well known for his opinions.

Three years separated our births
17 and 14
head boy and second year
junior school and most senior
Disraeli’s two nations
“ignorant of each other’s habits, thoughts, and feelings”

I don’t remember much about his tenure
an address at the beginning of the year
cameo appearances welcoming or thanking dignitaries
possibly a valedictory at prize giving.

When inducted a senior by age and examinations
I came to know head boys had many qualities
often equilibrating that difficult balance
approval by peers and authorities
but always casting their vote with God
never tempted by The Devil.

A nothing is urgent Saturday on Public Radio
the well-known former head boy
explains his views to the genial host
people shouldn’t be surprised
he has always been opinionated
willing to be unpopular from very young.

Scepticism often attaches itself to a photograph labelled iconic
Old Glory raised on Iwo Jima
MacArthur wading ashore to return
an exuberant V-J Day kiss in Times Square
a loincloth waiting to vote in an arid ex dictatorship.

Staged?
Ex post facto?
Photoshopped?

Authenticity is absolute – verifiable by God
the most characterful photographs ever taken
chapter one verse one emotion as subject.
Disappointment. Five men. Defeated. The South Pole.

It is unfaceable – a Norwegian tent
a camera and piece of string
capture rawness for posterity
they leave only photographs and diaries.

Death by starvation. Malnutrition as accomplice
ambition the money man paying for the hit
a brutal quotient too many miles not enough food.
Double or quits?

Everybody is a winner
except the one who did
glorious failure trumps flawless professionalism
to history Scott is a legendary figure
Amundsen a footnote.