Poet Authority Poem Terminal

Baggy nylon shirt
Made a very windy walk
Rather difficult

The mountain climber climbed a mountain
He was very tired and the air was very thin
He missed the thickness of the air below
The comfortable beds and the easily navigable inclines

Magnet waved to Ethel from across the street
He quite liked these new social distancing rules
He could pretend he wanted to speak to people
Ethel didn't much care for the new guidelines
Her frail legs burst into action as powdery hips crumbled around them
She spewed questions of children aunts, uncles, grans, and granddads
Magnet quickly pulled out his trusty chalk and drew a two metre radius around himself

Angus Walker got trapped indoors
He pulled on his hiking trousers and paced around the house trying to reenact his adventures
There were tiny plastic cows dotted about and he charged up some old phones to play ambient sounds
He pressed his head against the carpet and got really close to one of the cows
He imagined how big it would be and started to moo

Angus Walker walked south for what felt like days

He passed sheep (100% wool) and cows (100% steak and ale pie)

He was enjoying the sounds of cars on a distant motorway

And the swishing of his trouser legs

Angus Walker was on another one of his hikes

He pulled a compass from his polyester (65%) pocket and turned south

Angus liked to walk south

He felt as though gravity was on his side

Buttery Marge and her date kept trying to hold hands

He couldn't get a firm grip

He was quickly learning how her nickname came about

The poet walked for miles.
They saw indescribable views.
Then they walked for miles more.

I crossed the road at the zebra crossing.
I turned around and went back.
The driver looked angry.
I was letting the power get to my head again.

She climbed to the top of the mountain.
Breathed the fresh mountainy air.
Then gazed upon the journey back down.
She hacked her legs off with a shovel and called mountain rescue.

A poet roams the morning grass.
Filled with morning dew.
A walk enjoyed significantly more.
If they hadn't forgotten their shoes.

He admired the brickwork while walking by the house.
People don't really do that these days.
It's more about the shrubbery.
He thinks to himself unsure if it's true.

A purposeful march is interrupted as the bag for life gives way.
Betrayed, the walker collapses to their knees.
"What kind of life was that?" they weep, observing the spillage.

The poet and his partner sit atop a hill in the Lake District.
Looking to the sky she points out a bird.
"Two birds" he says, spotting another in the distance.
"Yes, two birds."
They hold hands, clammy due to the effort exerted so far and continue on.
Thoughts drift towards man's inhumanity to man.
Neither mention it.