Canto XLIX

You stop a few yards up the road and retch,
while buses pass just inches from your head,
I can do nothing more than stand and watch

whisper reassuring calming words
unless some passing office worker tuts
and then I fire a few fuck-you‘s instead.

All that comes up from your heaving guts
is sound and air—you try to collect your breath,
ignore the pseudo-wisdom I impart

for how to brave the half mile slog that’s left.
It may as well be Mount 珠穆朗玛峰,
whose Chinese name reflects the wonton broth

that’s cold by now, but I won’t let that marr
the Rocky III triumph of getting home,
but bounding steps in Philadelphia

can’t beat climbing Herne Hill with a busy womb.

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Aug 21, 2012 @ 09:15:25

    It might as well be Mount Everest ?

    At times like this there is very little that you can say or do. Faced with natures difficulties you just dig in and head for camp below the ice fall on the south coll.

    Reply

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