Allegory

by Mark Blaeuer

I grab my first aid kit.
The target house near, I decide
to run there. Soon I’m on the highway,
stuck behind a marathon
of centenarians, most crawling.
I yell, “Hurry up, you old
people!” They reach a place where
they’re supposed to rappel up a cliff,
and this slows them further, dogged
seniors moving two inches
per thousand years, covering
the precipice I have to ascend.
Unlatching my kit, I pull out
the bullwhip. CRACK! “Climb, suckers!
Hurry up, you old people!”
CRACK! “I’m responding to
a medical emergency!” Elders fall.
“Come on, damn it!” CRACK! Finally,
enough of the face clear, I
can elbow past, dropping a few
more. At top I dash to my
destination, family
at the door. “You’re too late,”
they accuse, “He died.” “Well, heck,”
I say, rummaging my kit
to find a baggie. “I was going
to administer this to your father: who
wants a doughnut hole?”