Rocky Mountains, Rocky Soul

Juxtaposing different environments with personality types.

Rocky Mountains, Rocky Soul,
I wouldn’t pick elsewhere to get old,
Where the people hike the 14'ers of bold, 
In the spring, summer, and bitter cold.

I would never live by the beach,
Their glowing tans and bottoms of peach,
Fun in the sun, relaxed, and full of rum,
Barefoot in the sand, hobo-chic bums.

I’d rather be bundled and stone cold sober, 
My anxieties replaying over and over,
Walking the woods with my dog and my gun,
Out of breath hoping a bear doesn’t come.

The smooth, glistening water and sand, 
A romantic get-away, to lend a hand, 
In marriage, and later, a baby in carriage,
A happy family to enjoy and cherish.

The sharp jags and points of the front range,
A place individuals come to estrange,
From the life and loved ones they knew before,
Skiing and biking precede amour.

Sandals, short-sleeves, seventy-degree weather,
A drive around the block to the recreation center,
Where Janice gets another e-mail,
About Taco Tuesday and fourth quarter sales.

Six-inch snow, gloves, and a ski mask,
It’s four A.M., dark, and I’m driving fast,
Through twisting, dynamic, mountain roads,
To arrive to a young patient who codes.

The truth is there is nothing bad to say,
About a person who prefers a palm tree and a lay,
That life is just too simple and easy,
For a difficult and masochistic me.

While that may be a fluke or flaw, 
To desire a life with hardship so raw,
Pain is beauty, truth: or so I’ve been told,
Rocky Mountains, Rocky Soul.