quiet men until they drink,
hard lives need hard liquor,
forget the ice,
it is cold enough,
liquid burning taste
is fire in the mouth
warms the belly,
pinpoint of heat
expands to fill the void
not the empty stomach,
but the empty heart
the empty bed,
the empty nights
filled with only
male voices on
a remote island
of metal, talk of
families, wives and
lovers and we
are only the few
the forgotten
the repair crew.
Mornings come
day goes filled
with work
but we start
by picking up
all that was empty
from the night
before, strangers
no more, and none
can find the one
satellite phone.


©ClemC102013