Bonaparte Crossing the Alps
Surely, you are not thinking about how poorly
This will all end one day. Does Elba even exist
On an isolated trail through the Alps in May?
Your mule already looks downtrodden. It moves.
It’s alive. The icicles are silent.
These boulders enjoy the company, I’m sure.
Don’t let them push you around.
Consider the gusts of wind
A welcoming gesture,
Kisses to your frosty cheeks.
There are easier routes to lead 40,000 men
Twisting, carrying heavy artillery.
There are warmer waist-coats to hide
A little corporal’s hand inside.
But no one would dare question the young
First Consul of the Republic. Hold on
To your bicorn & march to the rising
Drumrolls thundering along the difficult
Descent, framing a labyrinthine
Passage towards victory.
Martial flutes soar up
To that little bit of blue that peeks through
A whitewashed sky.
Perhaps a change of weather is in store, but today
There is wind in the Alps, freezing
Your afternoon gaze.
Adam J. Gellings
Adam J. Gellings is a poet from Columbus, Ohio. He received his MFA from Ashland University & currently lives in Vestal, New York.
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