Photo by Luke Ellis-Craven on Unsplash

By John Quintero


The Donner ridge, now seen from here, cathedral’s porch: 

Her seductive cleavage beckoned them to sink 

Their ivories into boiled, flash frozen flesh so pink. 

The pilot’s illusion of lowness to beat the scorch  


Of winter, proved wrong. O so horribly wrong. 

Belied the easy looking slopes of beautiful ease 

Looking like God had meant a pass. Joker’s tease 

The furies and sirens forgotten, the promising song. 


Officials put me on such slopes I’d seen far off, 

Released in the lifespan of cicada spawn.  

Are my peeps, nomads wand’ring in the dawn. 

Always, nod, always give your hat a gentle doff 


And never, never fail to look them in their peeps, 

That tells them they give you the, the upper class creeps. 

About The Author

Disclaimer: the views expressed by guest writers are strictly those of the author and may not reflect the views of the Vanguard, its editor, or its editorial board.

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