On Sitting On This Rock On This Tall Hill





I look down and see the world as I have never seen it

And wonder if it is skewed thus from the effort of my

Ascent (does climbing result in a warped view of the world?)

Or from simple geometry (which I was never good at).

On this Friday the weekend is calling to me, and the

Drone of the teacher’s just a wave goodbye in my

Peripheral mind.


Ah, weekends!

Sitting on a high hillside, a cliff, actually, on my own time—

Even Mum has no idea where I am,

Or that my view of the world is now a dangerously

Warped and woven tapestry of the heights:


Rooftops and small-mapped roads and tire marks

I’d never noticed—Are they real? Or visions

Bought on by the giddy altitude I had to achieve to

Reach this rock of granite, legs dangling:

One slip and I’m dead!



Copyright ©  Peter Twohig. All rights reserved.