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Poem
Allison liked to climb big rocks,
that’s how she spent the weekend days,
with ropes, pitons, and other gear,
felt most at home on a cliff face.

She’d come out to the Sierras,
to a campground with ledges near,
a short walk to the technical climbs,
she would enjoy all her time here.

The first day she’d done a good climb,
but just a warm-up for the rest,
the next day she’d really push it,
and give herself a worthy test.

But that night as she drank some wine,
perched before a big camp fire,
a young man walked by, tall and bronze,
naughty thoughts he did inspire.

Allison called out to the man:
“And here I thought I was alone.
Come on and help me drink this wing,
I can’t finish it on my own.”

A pretty girl offering booze…
What sort of man would turn down that?
She he sat down and took a swig,
then said,”Hello, my name is Max.”

Now Allison, she was no prude,
and was looking for a bit of fun,
both of them soon were nicely buzzed,
went to the tent when it was done.

So began a wild affair
that was to last all of that week,
by day she’d climb the big rock walls,
at night do anything but sleep.

One night she murmured to the man,
“I want to keep seeing you, somehow.”
Max just smiled and held her close,
said,”Let’s just both enjoy the now…”

It was on the last day she had
joined with some others for a climb,
at the bottom, on the scree-slope,
she stumbled upon an odd find.

A white cross painted on a rock,
half-faded by the sun’s harsh glare,
she asked, and a local climber said:
“I think a climber once died there.

“It was a bit before my time,
but now that I stop and think back…
I believe I can recall his name,
it was Mike…or Mick…or Max?”

The minute that she heard the name
she knew that something big was wrong,
Allison rush down to the camp,
but her Max was completely gone...

CONCLUDES IN PART II.
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