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That Kind of Hill



In Spanish, they have a word
For the kind of hill that one must pass over
After stepping off the crowded bus after school
Into the tropical heat,
With your arms full and weighty,
Your legs stiff.

It is not a dangerous kind of hill—
Merely annoying: a lump of nuisance value.
Possessing no challenge, yet challenging,
It demands to be bested, and, once won,
Offers as reward only the opportunity
To meet it again, tomorrow.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.