image borrowed from bing
“No matter how close to yours another’s steps have
grown, in the end there is one dance you’ll do alone.”
Keep on stepping, dude,
or they will attach casters to your broken ankles
and mount rubber wheels on your butt--
nobody can step up until they stand up;
your shadow-self steps tallest at high noon
while alkaline-naked on infinite salt flats;
so circumnavigate the bullshit, you dig?
There is a plethora of small steps
that must be taken before any
damn giant leaps!
We dreamers with artificial knees
and vicious varicose veins can only
gaze longingly at those bitches,
those distant mountains, disdainful foothills
and treacherous ten-story walk ups,
reduced to fantasies, images in paint,
words in poems--
every old mountaineer must acknowledge,
must realize that the killing zone
now resides at sea level.
So crank up the Zeppelin tunes,
tap those tired toes, because cool moves,
daring dance steps have become arthritic twitches,
and those sparkling ivory steps on the Stairway
to Heaven had by God better morph into a
slick escalator if your big backside is ever
to ascend them--
but it really doesn’t matter, does it?
More than likely when you finally take
that last big step to the Other Side,
you will laugh like a lemur
you will have managed to step
in dog shit just before the crossing.
Posted over on Poetry Jam
Would you like to hear the author read this stepping poem to you?