Off Piste Poem by Matthew Coombe

Our RE teacher never somehow looked
exactly the way he was supposed to.
Bushy Mexican bandit black moustache.
His winter school ski trips to Austria

Always a sell-out, all-ticket event.
One Christmas – a few years back now – they said
deep in the first snowfall of retirement

he caught an edge at the peak of his stairs
and avalanched down, piled up in the hall.

Black ice can wipe you out at any time.



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