Mount Faito

A poem

Mount Faito. Campania. Atop the summit. Holidays last day. In the cable car,  on the way up, subway-sardined into the centre space, with no view, I swore, it was going to be different on the way down. With no reason to come back again, and as I’d made it this far, I would make it memorable, for sure.  

I had planned it all. Video on phone, camera snapping, the rest eyeballed.  There was to be a poem, story, or drawing that these recordings would augment. No time at the top. Story of my life. Being picked up at the hotel in a few hours and so up and straight down - but this, in my mind, meant it would be an empty descent.  

Damn - four old, stocky sisters in front of me, a dad with screaming kids behind. An English sandwich on Italian bread. The pilot/driver unlatched the gate and the rush to get the best spot was such that everyone seemed to forget how the cable could snap, and send us all to a horrible death, in mere seconds.  

The kids would forget the view. Sisters, too busy chatting. I should have stuck out my elbows, sucked up the insults I couldn’t understand, but for some reason, I just didn’t.

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The view from Mount Faito, Campania, Italy. August 2023. Nikon d750

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