The Long Slope (Poetry)

It is a good job we do not grow old
all at once —
simply age at the stroke
of some predestined midnight

If we did we would not
recognise ourselves
in the bathroom mirror
close friends would pass us
in the street
without a second look

As it is
the years gradually catch us up
as we career down
the one-shot-only ski slope
time piling on us
and weighing heavy
while we try to keep
both apperances and balance
our elbows tucked
our brittle bodies folded neat
brave-faced and resolute
as the world flashes past
at a speed well beyond
our control

while the avalanche thunders
and lunges at our disbelieving heels
god-fearing although
that last sinking
into the snowdrift
is really the easy part —
knowing how the purity of ice
embraces and preserves
is quite oddly
reassuring ...