We’re walking up a ramp outside the bookies:
a poured concrete Everest for five-inch feet.
We reach the top, turn around, go down, and start again. The rocket on your wellies
thinks it’s doing all the work. We don’t say anything.
A couple we saw earlier in the park stop.
The man says he doesn’t envy me
having to walk around with you all day.
The woman shuffles on her feet, rearranges
the conker brown scarf around her neck, looks at your face and says, I’ve never met anyone
climb this mountain as well as you can.
© Carl Burkitt 2022