"Notes from a non-existent Himalayan Expedition"

(Title of one of the poems of Wistawa Szymborska poached at a free write session with Ana)

we walked naked across the ice like Patagonians,
a decorative fur skin carelessly thrown over our left shoulder,
except Vincent who threw his over his right to demonstrate his
non-conformist tendencies.
The Sherpas knew we were mad as hatters but humored us
as we dropped dollar bills behind us like breadcrumbs;
they were as quickly gathered
no path left behind to guide us home.
the crevasses screamed as we stepped over them,
exhaling mint flavored gasps of icy air that would have
billowed up our boxers if we wore them;
only Vincent wore a pair to cover his bald head
the pattern of star and stripes visible from a distance
even though he was Belgian.
Our progress was slow, the Sherpas were surly
and disrespectful
the whole thing was just damn unpleasant and
frankly,
boring.
even Vincent's jokes were deteriorating rapidly,
so when the newspaper thwapped on the front porch
and the dogs got to barking, I ended the mission
abruptly and mercifully, sending Vincent
back to his wife and kids, the others
scattered to the winds.