| Rising |
| Rising. Rising e're nearer the snow storm, Snow laden clouds drifting an arm's length above. Rising along twin frozen rails of steel, Ascending a steep grade, parallel, Ever upwards through the Brenner Pass, Where Carthage's soldiers and war elephant's feet Packed snow into ice along rocky trails. I open a window. Wet snowflakes and dry, crisp air rush inside, Flushing the acrid stench of my West-by-God Virginia armpits, And stinking blue smoke from my cheap Italian cigarettes, That pissy smell from who knows what Out of my second class cabin. The thin, frigid alpine air that thinned Hannibal's dark-skinned ranks Clears my tar-filled lungs. I draw breath deeply; The dry, icy air burns. Standing at the open window, arms crossed, shivering, I exhale and watch my humid exhaust rise and scatter. War elephants no longer bear burdens of conflict Along rocky precipes, but I see blonde-haired Austrian boys, wrapped tightly in wool, Ascend, Digging their ice-caked boots into deep, fresh powder, Yoked to heavy sleds dragging lifelessly behind- Fifteen minutes of hard labor is well worth it For a thirty-second thrill ride. Others zoom down steep mountainsides Blindly sliding down, holding steering ropes for dear life While smoke belched from the little cottages below And hearth fires and warm cocoa await der klein Jungen In the little village Where armies no longer march and trains no longer stop. |
| by Dave Payne, Sr. |
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| Last edited 12/28/01 |
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