Penyfan man (not)

Benchwarmer at Gnoll Lake

I pictured a man on Pen y Fan,
wind in his hair,
heart in his chest,
standing tall like he belonged on the peak.

Instead —
I got you.

Gnoll Lake’s finest benchwarmer,
packet of fags in one hand,
self-pity in the other.
Smoking like the Marlboro Man,
but without the horse, the hat,
or the backbone. Ok

A knight? Don’t make me laugh.
You’re a tin-foil takeaway,
crumpled and greasy,
left out for the gulls.

I don’t need a man who times his life
by cigarette breaks,
who thinks a shuffle round the lake
is a conquest.

Keep your benches.
Keep your ashtrays.
Keep your tin-foil crown.

I’m climbing higher —
and trust me,
you’ll never see this view