Antarctic Follies
Manchurian pony, fetlocks sunk
into the snow, then hock and knee,
straining, slowing, stuck. She shivers
in this blind space of hammered cold.
Scott stumbles on bloodied feet.
He can no longer drag his sled,
dried beef and fat run thin.
His woollen kit and canvas coat
so apt for Scottish sleet but not
for sweat then slicing, splintered air.
Amundsen learned much from Inuit skill.
He glides a frozen bank on skis,
his poles are tipped with ebonite,
hood of his reindeer coat tufted with ice.
Huskies with pale blue, callous eyes
will yelp and snarl but drag and win.
Jen stares at flashcards, swills her tea.
She needs to know psychologists’ names,
their surveys’ scale, responses’ sweep
carry each weighty fact ’til June’s exam,
Learning facts by rote is not tailored
to the world ahead, no space to roam:
a pony in the snow.