Slide (down the depression)

I am too eager,
too hot
for your buttery
slopes.
Scrabbling,
desparate fingers
claw and melt
and down I slide.

Other climbers
walk steady –
slow, calm, ready
for summit –
for peak –
for views of
dairies beyond.

I claw away –
greasy and then:
screaming,
sliding,
slipping
and curdling
back to the buttery bottom
I go.

I’m stuck here
now, I think –
not know, not believe:
but think.
Not complete
yet, not utter:
but nearly.

Standing slowly,
laces buckled and
belt tied
I slowly and un-steadily stick one
flat footed boot
to the foot hills.

2010