Top of Mount Herman
Maybe I’ll to drive to the
top of Mount Herman.
I’ve been told there’s a
stand of Aspen with
trunks thicker than an
average man can hug.
I’ve been told I’m not average,
though its never clarified
whether above or below.
Chances are good lovers have made
the same drive and knifed their
names in that white flesh.
Why the fools couldn’t just make
love and leave, I do not know.
The Aspen just stood there,
quaking, and took it.
Maybe the gashed gods on
top of Mount Herman pray for
unaverage men to try their
hands at hugs.
Something tells me they would
stand there, and take it.
Lord this is good. I noticed so many of those gashed Aspens on our hike in Colorado and it made me sad. Then I felt foolish for feeling sad. Now I feel validated. I love that first line, oddly enough. And all the rest too
I love the ambiguity of this sentence: “Chances are good lovers have made
the same drive and knifed their
names in that white flesh.”
I am pulled forward to discover whether it is the chances or the lovers that are good.