Ski! Ski! Ski! Ski!

Ski!  Ski!  Ski!  Ski!
“So you enjoy gracefully schussing down the hill?”
A friend asked and I laughed, “Graceful?  No.  Not me!”

“I seek giant moguls,” I tell the ski patrol, “Where’s the best snow?”
“We’ll get a stretcher ready and prepare our splints for you.
“The Wall is what you seek.  That’s where all the crazy people go.”

“Very well,” I go over The Wall with a silent prayer and a yell.
Video cameras whir.  Warren Miller will buy their tapes if I prevail,
America’s Funniest Home Videos has bought the ones where I fell.

At the top of each bump stands a mogul troll.
Invisible creatures that will trip me up as I pass,
But not if I reach forward and stab them with my ski pole!

Leaning forward I impale the creature’s hairy foot,
Then turn around him with my weight on my downhill ski.
But if I miss my strike, then my mogul run is kaput.

Some people telemark and some race the Super G,
But sticking mogul trolls is what I do best.
Gracefully schussing?  These words are foreign to me.

The sun has set, the day is done; I have not yet met my doom.
I eat a thick steak and a carrot cake and retire to my hotel.
What’s this?  My God!  A mogul troll, waiting in my room!