(The Bearsden/Drumchapel Divide)
Up Pendicle hill. One morning,
could have been the first of May,
chasing dewdrops to wash my face in,
put on a bright new skin.
I couldn’t have been more than fourteen.
Leaving at my back the sandy flats
of Connolly’s desert.
Walking to Bearsden
With a thirst for ambrosia.
I can’t believe I’m fifty-four.
It’s a long climb up Pendicle
when you’re rolling this stone.
Still shaking the sand out of my shoes,
the quick and the dead.
Social Climbing was published in Cutting Teeth magazine in 2001
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