sledding

WHO WOULDN’T WANT TO BE SANTA CLAUS?

 
 
In 1999, I sledded a glacier
in the Wrangell Mountains
in Alaska: three-thousand
vertical feet on a
sixty-degree slope,
reaching speeds over
a mile a minute, meaning
I covered 3,400 feet distance
in thirty-nine seconds time.
No one believes me. 
Who’d pay for a helicopter
ride to hop on a toboggan?
St. Nick would, I answer.
Or any self-respecting
ten-year-old boy.
That’s when a woman
will invariably call me sexist,
and the whole conversation
about my sledding fascination
goes off the rails.
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