Still at the Bottom of the Hill

I once met a beggar in a wheelchair who asked me to roll him up the hill.

It was about to pour. The sky was turning awry.

And suddenly, the second word a newborn learns

Crawled out of my throat—no.

I was probably in a hurry, or maybe I thought I couldn’t be seen with him.

He looked at me and nodded, a short-lived smile flickering on his face.

The pandemic was raging. Everyone feared for their lives and rushed home.

Perhaps it was my fear of infection that made me say no.

Or maybe it was some unexplained force of the moment.

Maybe the hill was too steep for my spine, worn down by too much sitting,

To be tasked with such an arduous job.

I hate to break it to you, sir, but it wasn’t any of that.

It would’ve taken less than five minutes—

Including the two he’d spend thanking me.

Since then, I’ve been hoping I’d find him at the bottom of the same hill.

He wouldn’t even remember me, I guess.

Me shaking my head probably wasn’t the first time someone turned him down—

And definitely not the last.