WEDNESDAY: Walking Up Scafell Pike with my Father


Copyright is held by the author.

After walking a few yards
you breathe like someone
who has slipped across the border.

I am ahead, you are far
behind. There are no rest stops
on this rocky path to the summit,

no hedgerows to distract
our lack of common interests
or silences broken up with ums

and ers. You wear a jacket
of rain and I nudge you ahead with tuts.
At the top, there is nothing

but what a view. We are at opposite
ends of the plateau with only similar
rocks bringing us closer.

1 comment
  1. The stanza breaks give a sense of the hesitation and breathlessness involved. Such a sad poem reflecting the gap between father and son, that persists even at the top. A mountain climbed without resolution.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *