New Poem Day # 8...

Death and Skiing

Rob and I descended the hill,
my skis tossed over my shoulder
while Rob slid beside me
on his ski pants, not even
making the attempt to walk down
the steep slope of ice.
As the other skiers zipped
past us, spraying a fine mist
of white, I said to Rob
that if a person already had
really bad self esteem,
and they were considering suicide,
they should go skiing, and make
sure to bring a gun along.
That way, if they’re as bad
at skiing as we are,
they’ll get frustrated enough
and instead of walking back down,
they can just shoot themselves
right then and there,
and then they won’t have
to worry about returning
their skis or about people
laughing at them from the
ski lift.  Because no one
laughs at dead people.