Will I Be Able to Stop in Time?

Fix My Wagon

The wheels of the rusted wagon
turn slowly.
This hill is steep,
and my load heavier
than I knew.

Tightening my grip
on the cool, black handle,
I try to smoothly
pull my burden
over the rough terrain.

My destination is in sight—
no, not my destination.
Yes, I see the apex of the hill,
but the end I’m striving for
is not that close to the sky.

The back of my hand
sweeps a strand of hair
from my forehead.

I have finished my climb.

Folding my legs and
fitting my full-grown body
into my little red dinghy,
I pull the handle towards my mouth.

Then I scoot and shimmy
until I’m close enough
to the edge
for gravity to take over.

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