Friday, March 6, 2009

Ascending Mount Fifty

Up the mountain track we plodded,
Heads that gasped for breath and nodded,
As the leering sun above us
Cackled like an irksome knave.
Strung out in a line, we went on,
Walking sticks at each stage leant on,
All our energies were spent on
Trying to keep up with Dave.
Focussed, ‘pon that long ascent, on
Trying to keep up with Dave.

Up ahead, he strode with vigour.
How we cursed that skinny figure,
As he paused awhile to give us
All a long and cheery wave.
As we gasped and groaned and grumbled,
As we up the steep slope stumbled,
Watching as the loose stones tumbled
Down the hill, we watched as Dave
For another ciggy fumbled.
Would we were as fit as Dave!

“Hurry up!” he shouted breezily,
As the smoke-rings wafted easily
Up to heaven, while we, panting,
Only craved an early grave.
Still we struggled on, unspeaking,
Eying vultures, circling, shrieking,
Bones protesting, muscles creaking,
As we grimly followed Dave.
Strength of purpose slowly leaking
As we plodded after Dave.

Still the sun beat down unkindly,
As we cursed and followed blindly,
Getting almost close enough to
Smell his Old Spice aftershave.
But then he sprang up from his boulder,
Threw his bag across his shoulder.
God! He didn’t look much older
Than the 1980s Dave.
Up to where the air was colder,
Up we followed, trailing Dave.

But then our legs could climb no longer
And the urge to turn grew stronger,
Feeling we could not continue
As the mountain’s helpless slave.
Too high! We couldn’t overcome it,
No 4 x 4s for us to thumb it,
Either turn around or plummet
Down to that deep valley’s nave.
Wait! Who’s that upon the summit,
Waving like a demon? Dave?

Up on high and looking nifty,
There he stood, atop Mount Fifty,
Like a tiny fly upon some
Crumbling Georgian architrave.
Lo! Our journey wasn’t ended.
Pain was once again suspended.
“Come on up! The view is splendid!”
Shouted an ebullient Dave.
So we once again ascended
That great mountain after Dave.

Up and up, although we’re tiring,
Gasping loudly and perspiring,
Fortune favours who? The foolish?
Certainly we’re none too brave.
But we’ll triumph through persistence
(And some medical assistance)
After which, our sad existence
Will be but to follow Dave.
Downhill, far, far in the distance,
We will sigh and follow Dave.