standing out on deck,

cigarette smoke curling

from his tipped back head,

absently watching the cold wind

rip down the starboard side,

sparkling weirdly

in the midday dawning light.

 

steam rises faintly

from his lightly covered body

as a deep rage pounds

through his mind and body.

a strange thought takes hold,

"how good that wind would feel...."

stepping cautiously forward,

bracing for the stinging impact

of the frozen particals

sparkling and dancing

 in the midday early light.

 

the cigarette burns

quickly in the wind,

faster than usual,

turning 'round

to step from the wind,

he sees the upper echelon

of the command crew,

screaming hoarsely incoherent words,

glaring angrily at them,

the young man says,

"what? it felt good, lemme alone."

turns and walks inside,

leaving the fifty knot,

negative one-twenty degree

screeching wind

behind.

I really dont remember why I was really, really mad. I simply remember thinking "I bet that would feel good" and then I was standing in wind that was cold enough to where even the moisture in the air was frozen solid. it was -80 without wind chill and -120 with wind chill. I stood in the wind smoking a cigarette for about 2 minutes wearing a pair of jean-like pants and a tee-shirt. This poem tells a true story about the bitter cold at the North Pole in November.

Respond To This Comment