Li Po and I went together to the mountainto have a talk with an old debate coach of ours.We passed the rock called Monkey Having Its TaxReturn Audited, and the tree called Immortal EnjoyingA Cinnabon Before Entering Heaven. When we cameto the famous What Up? Pine that greets visitorswith its limbs crossed in front of its crotchthere was a sign that said the mountain was closedfor repairs. But this wasn’t the real mountain.After the real mountain was amputatedthey erected this prosthetic mountain.The path down was nine-hundred and ninety-ninesteps carved from excuses because the wordnine also means both prosperity favors the prudent,tidy farmer and make sure you use sunblock.By the time we reached the bottom Li Pohad become an old girlfriend of mine I hadtreated miserably although for years I thoughtshe was the one who treated me miserably.She broke up with me if by breaking up you meanshe wouldn’t answer the door I was pounding on.I’m falling down those stairs even today.You don’t hear the tiger in the rushes untilyou hear the tiger biting the back of your neck.You don’t expect bamboo to grow through your footbut bamboo grows through your foot. Things sneakup on you. A prosthesis is sutured into placefor your missing joy, your staunched affect.Li Po fell out of his boat trying to hug a full moonand drowned. Was he drunk? Of course I was.____Michael Gushue runs the micro-press Beothuk Books and is co-founder of Poetry Mutual/Vrzhu Press. His work has appeared online and in print. His chapbooks are “GatheringDown Women,” from Pudding House Press, “Conrad” from Souvenir Spoon Books,and “Pachinko Mouth,” forthcoming from Plan B Press. He lives in the Brooklandneighborhood of Washington, DC.