At the Ski Lodge

 

In the Ski lodge

Fried food lingers

to pores, plaster

and particle board walls

it’s a teenage wasteland

of sorts

acne and cells phones

tightly wrapped

in Northface coats

down knockoffs

mittens and scarves

and blistered feet

are engulfed in boots

too tight

strapped, locked in

and ready for

another downward

plunge.

Idle chatter coats

The tables and chairs

Like syrups of soda

Spilled, layered and sticking

To everything it touches.

 

Youth lined in coats of safety

Safely glance, withdrawing

And glancing again

Lacking confidence

Coughing nervously

Courageously trying,  failing…

Picking themselves up off

Of the powered snow

Brushing off illusions

Of rejection, injecting

Infected bruised pride

With another shot of

Laughter, red faced

Not just frost bite

Teasing the cheeks and nose

This is living

ski lifts, hot cups of cocoa

Steaming , engulfing souls in this

Wasteland,

retrieving mitten hands

Gathering up scarves and hats

Destined for that big jump

That may or may not come

Accompanied with chances

Of bruised pride, ribs and

Collar bones… those that

Are free, full of fried food

Ferry up the slope again

Fighting off such feelings

Of failure,

It’s all downhill

from there.