this boy on the ladder
this boy on the ladder in the deep, deep hole
climbing and climbing, patiently climbing
I’ve met him and met him
over and over again
sometimes we just wave
you know, the man’s wave
the motorcyclist’s wave
waist high
one quick half-turn of the hand
sometimes we just wave and grin
recognition and
going our own ways
I never have a clue
what I’m doing in that hole with him
except meeting him
witnessing
that never ending climb
once I shared water with him
I had a canteen
and reached it out to him
he nodded
took it
stopped long enough to drink
and hand it back
several times he’s stopped climbing
long enough to answer a question
but if I asked a second
he just smiled
and climbed again
no, he told me once
he doesn’t just climb
he reads
he has seven thousand years of writing to read
before he finishes
fortunately, he grinned
some of those years are pretty sparse
others are empty
but mostly since we learned
we’ve been writing fit to kill
and not all of it very pungent
he grinned
and he kept climbing
no, the hole doesn’t go down through the molten rock
that would be ridiculous
and roast him
some days he’d almost welcome that
it probably snakes around
wherever there is dirt and rock
and yes
the ladder snakes with the hole
how else could he keep climbing
he waved and kept on climbing
no, he doesn’t know
why he must climb
he doesn’t think it punishment
or reward
just what he must do
there’s no one else to do it
no, that isn’t quite right
it’s his to do
and he must do it
or maybe other parts of this great world
wouldn’t work even better than they don’t already
sometimes he suspects
other boys with similarly senseless other jobs
must have rebelled and quit
to make this world
work as badly as it does
but mostly he doesn’t think about them
or about the world
his job is to climb
he does it well
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