Running Late - June 15 2024

 

Running Late

June 15 2024

I watched them die

attempting to summit.

One foot at a time,

stopping for breath

and gulping for air

in Everest’s grim Death Zone.

But first

I stop to admire

the mountaineer's vernacular;

the verbing of a noun,

the unembellished shock

of Death Zone.

A shorthand

for people of action

who have no time for words

when daylight is short

and the top of the world so temptingly close.

No one awakened that morning

thinking this would be their last.

No one looked around

and imagined every person they saw

would be gone that afternoon;

bodies left forever

where they fell

frozen in their death throes,

all brightly dressed

in brand new high-tech gear.

Or at least didn’t permit

such subversive thoughts,

lest they tempt either fate

or cowardice.

Of course, every morning could be your last;

even here

where the air is sweet

the light soft

and the earth flat,

too close

to look all the way down

and see its gentle curve

falling away.

Because when every day is like the one before

such thoughts seem preposterous;

and anyway

there’s too much on your mind

in the morning rush

to bother with mortality.

The final pass

and a bottleneck,

a sudden storm,

the hubris of man.

Or some random weekday

on the busy freeway

when you fumbled for your coffee

and for that moment looked away.

     . . . Running late, as usual.