on an Icelandic hill
meteorologist monitors chill
she is not lonely
numbers and charts accompany
a three month assignment
she swallows lots of supplements
she can’t go home
but she’s glad to avoid his tone
in the quiet and computer noise
she begins to talk without poise
“Come on, can’t take a joke?”
half mimicking his familiar yoke
she cries to the buzzes and whirs
even now it hurts her
when her replacement comes
he finds her hung