Rigworkers

Rigworkers

I watch as they leave. Penguins in heavy,
Yellow suits dragging towards the chopper's
Black belly; sweaty, phobia filled flight
Awaiting. Thunder cracking blades
Whip the air. Grim faced, heads dropped
They wait for the signal to board.

Heavy thoughts clutch to the laughter
Of children, wet kisses, sweet smells
Of warm flesh, sun-ray filled bright-flowery
Gardens and half finished tasks.
Plans are dreamed up for the return;
The unthinkable best not thought.

Swallowed by the dark hole, they turn,
A last, longing, begging look, a wave
Then lift-off, nose down towards the
Echoing-steely-cold-neon-lit prison;
A whirlpool of twelve hour shifts.

The same faces, the same dreary stories,
The same noise, the same Tannoy
Announcements. Fourteen days and
Nights whirling; sucking them
screaming to the bottom.