You, have conflict with the chill night air.
Tussling tight in your bag for warmth
Knotting yourself in twisted clothes,
A chattering of bones, that won’t quiet...
Discomfort strikes harder
Flipping its attitude in anger.
You boil in nausea as the sun rises
Clawing fingers over limbs, breaking out
Of your tent that’s abominably silent.
The quiet culprit, burns as an oven.
Uninterested in your clogged airways
And ketchup red eyes, glued shut in sleep.
You stalk, like Gary Oldman, burnt by sun
As Dracula, weakened by day,
By the pollen. That has you sneezing
Twelve or fifteen in a row,
Stoney rings about your eyes, you meet mine
And brandishing an arm up high
(To smear away the allergy) you say,
‘Never again. Never again in my life
Will I, go camping.’