That Far South

by Brett Rutherford

A friend writes
that he is moving to Chile
to get away from
you know, everything.

Chile, really? I know
of pine forests
on the Pacific coast,
the last refuge perhaps

for those who yearn
for fjords and streams,
but what of the winds
that tear through
Tierra del Fuego,

unending hurricane
so fierce that trees
grow only in one direction,
flat to the ground;

what of the Mapuche
Indians, untamed
and yearning still
to expel the gringos?

And who knows what
those Santiago
oligarchs are up to
and for whom they'll come
when they get around to you
and your invading kind.

Chile, I think not,
not while the Andes,
razor-sharp, pierce clouds
that scream in agony,
not, and worst of all,

not where, because
so far below
Equator's line
(just check a globe)

everything
is
upside
down!