Took a Hike

I have never done it so I don’t know what it’s like.
Perhaps if I’d begun it even once – then absolutely
let loose after that – I’d lose this sense of spiky
impermissibility: fend off this psychic army of red ants
of cynicism that I’m sure impends – intends to wend

its angry way at my too rashly hungry heart: determined
to lick every flick of flesh off every part of it, and each
surrounding bone: those I own and those of anyone
unfortunate enough to be the lone recipient of my
unhindered love: whatever that might be. No tree for me –

or will there be? This is the fifth year of release from
my first holiday without her. Now her niece, her brother’s
daughter, my first cousin Barbara writes me in a card –
she hopes that I’m okay, and by the way it turns out,
yes, we were related on a very distant day to Nathan Hale,

but oddly are more linked to Lincoln! Abraham and Nathan,
sad and murdered – killed despite so many glistening
Christmases. Well, everybody dies. I’ve no replies.
Do not surmise that I am not a happy man, myself:
despite the artificial Christmas tree I’ve got which distantly

reflects the harmony my mother once provided it – still
firmly wedged onto the shelf it’s sat on since last year.
I think the thing is: loving without fear. (Talk the talk,
walk the walk.) I have never done it so I don’t know
what it’s like. Maybe I will write to Barbara: “Took a hike.”


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