Down

I try to push the ball up the hill

Each foot an anchor with each step

But every time I pause to breathe,

the damn thing rolls all the way back down.

I stand at the top: red eyes, nostrils flaring at the ball that just won’t see:

my way is better,

So I walk down over and over, get behind the ball and begin again,

arms outstretched, feet anchored, with each step gearing up my momentum because maybe it’s not about getting that damn ball to stay in one place

Maybe the with each trip up, it needs to roll back down to rest

So it can make the journey again

Maybe each trip does get easier, though it’s hard to see that clearly when all you do

all day long is push, push, push.