The walk tests me each time.
The uneven pavement, the steep hills.
I always work up a good sweat.
I stop at Arthur’s flat for a beer.
He’s moving west this spring.
“Got a cousin in Jasper,” he says.
“He’s gonna set me up there.”
Nothing’s holding him here.
Arthur used to be the super
in my building but lost that gig
after his heart attack. He’s
doing better now and probably
shouldn’t be drinking beer.
Never know if it could be his last.
But maybe because of that
he should drink as many beers
as he wants. And maybe one
of them will be his last,
but it will taste delicious.
Nothing’s holding him here—
and what’s holding any of us
to this particular point in time
and space, besides gravity
and maybe loyalty to someone
or something, or love? Love
can hold us. But you can crash
letting go of it or being let go.
Time to finish my walk.
I need the sweat, the release.
I need to keep moving
to stay my own crash.
I thank Arthur for the beer
and hit the road. He promises
to write or email from Jasper,
but I would never hold him to it.
