Tough on the Heights

They thought they were tough on the heights
and they patted themselves on the back
all the way up the mountain
Lovers of themselves
on steep cross-cuts
discarded mirrors
seen alongside the trail

They thought they were tough on the heights
And they stood spread-eagled on rocky crags
Looking down on the world
Smug looks on all the faces.

Didn’t notice those black wings
Circling behind them
Or those gathering grey cumulo-nimbus
Or the darkening sky
Nor the shadows that fell over them
They didn’t notice a lot of things
until it was too late
They thought they were tough on the heights.

Then
Thunder             Lightning
Rain            Fog              Cold
Crosscut trails turned to mud
Rock footholds
Now slick rock ramps
Leading only one way

They thought they were tough on the heights
Didn’t notice those black wings
Circling behind them
Talons in the belly
the probable outcome all along

And they slipped and they slid
and they clawed and they clung
but they tumbled down bouncing
like sacks of potatoes

They thought they were tough on the heights.

Ken Greenley February 4, 1958 – February 12, 2020 was a writer who lived in Denver, Colorado. The number of places he’s lived is only exceeded by the number of job’s he’s had. Greenley liked to explore the themes of class division (in a supposedly classless country), the struggle to stay spiritual in the modern world, and the growth episodes that occur in childhood. He thought art, particularly writing, should combat media brainwashing, and should examine the clash between what we’re told and what really happens. He tried to make his material as funny as possible, because he found it hard to make modern life seriously, and considered it his mission “to make people laugh and think at the same time.”

Much more on Ken Greenley can be found by clicking here… and here…