Duet

The expedition’s jinx, breaker of vacuum jars
and laptop hinges, near whom
every drillbit sheared
and every ice core rose contaminated with brown kerosene
and every guyline was a trip hazard,

who threw precision widgets on the fritz
merely by walking past them,
in whose presence the supply plane
overshot the runway – twice – and when unloading
dropped the kilo jar of honey, August’s luxury –

that schmuck – secured his funding for another year.
There’s barley vodka chilling
in the ice-cairn. On the iPod something slow and sad
does battle with the katabatic wind
the battery-life of all our kit gets drained by.



Roadkill Ocelot
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