1838: Hill Walking in Lockdown

We roll in an encyclopaedia of grasses –
flicked by a wind/ Your off-white blouse
is ripped open to burns [but not a hand
or eye] – enough has been imbibed – by
both of us – we filled before we left for a
walk over Firle/ No social distancing – or
other protective measures were taken in
our day’s exploration/ Idiots toss reams
of litter – they strew word of McDonalds
across a seen-it-all tumuli/ I bend – help
you up/ My eyes ache from map reading
& staring at you/ We revert to hill walking

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