The Expedition of the Nimrod

Dragging my trash can
through the snow
up a hill
I lost a shoe

I felt like Shackleton
breathing heavily
pulling hard on the bin
my sock attracting ice clumps

as I hopped frantically
with my exposed foot
digging into recent tracks
in search of the hidden sneaker

now tucked neatly
under thirteen slushy inches
two steps back
from the now-abandoned can

I briefly consider sitting down
to re-cover my freezing foot
but shudder to think of
the wet spot this would leave

on the seat of my khakis
twenty minutes before
I have to teach
a bunch of eleven year olds

Instead I opt to insert my toes
and walk without exerting pressure
on the half-filled shoe
all while lugging the trash so

the joy I felt upon reaching the
plowed street and
wiggling back into my footwear
matches an Antarctic explorer’s

return to the temperate coastal town
where his wife and children
await him on the docks bundled up
against a chill he can no longer feel

About semiblind

Bringing you stark existentialism since 1981.
This entry was posted in best-laid plans, clusterfuck, despair, family, fear, history, poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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