We’re on a slope with sledges on a chilly day,
standing frozen while our less cautious friends
propel themselves downhill, twist and bend,
to crash out at the end with risk of injury.
We, with rigid stares at our less timid mates,
are stubborn-stiff at what could harm us all.
We know what’s best, deplore the fate
of skidding kids on bin lids, doomed to fall.
Yet they shriek with glee, not pain. See
their thrill-filled faces as they tumble, rise
survivors of an idiot-brave fraternity,
taking leaps of faith with fire in their eyes.
To throw yourself at the world might look like fun
but we choose to remain, decline our Cresta Run.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Sharon Larkin
would be pleased to hear them.