The Lifts Are Out (Again)

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Numbed hands stick

to metal rail – flaked

paint – municipal grey –

jabbing under naked

fingernails as they slide

ever upwards while

feet carefully negotiate

the rise and tread

of coarse slab slats.

 

Cheeks and lips crack

under gale chill slap, its

frigid wind and rain

squall-fluming against

weary weighted joints.

 

Blood heat melts

the frost that sticks

skin to an exposed

and rimy bannister.

 

One step.

And another.

Escalading.

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