A Backpacker's Haiku

A Backpacker’s Haiku

by Tommy Baggins

Shakespir Edition

Copyright 2016 by Tommy Baggins

 

This tongue-in-cheek collection of haiku is very loosely based on actual experiences on the Appalachian Trail. The first haiku was suggested by a friend of mine.

 

A bear on the trail,

waiting to ambush hikers,

specifically me.

 

Giardia and

cryptosporidium and

a broken filter.

 

Rain, mud, biting wind,

soggy socks and blistered feet.

Desert sounding nice.

 

Underneath a bridge:

graffiti, garbage, train tracks,

shelter from the rain.

 

Are those shelter mice?

I chase them with sticks and stones.

Those aren’t mice! They’re skunks!

 

It is time to wash.

My socks can walk by themselves.

Let’s drown them in bleach.

 

Cool off in a pond.

Leeches! They’re swimming toward me!

I’m already gone.

 

I am a redneck,

literally a redneck.

My neck is sunburned.

 

A rattlesnake owns

a little piece of the trail.

I yield right-of-way.

 

Mosquitoes and ticks

frighten me more than any

bear or rattlesnake.

 

I pull on my boots

on a cold, snowy morning.

They’re as stiff as wood.

 

I find no water

on this high and dry ridge line,

on this thirsty day.

 

I declare war

on mosquitoes in my tent.

The fight is bloody.

 

Where is the summit?

This mountain just keeps going.

It climbs forever!

 

There is no summit!

This mountain keeps going up.

It just keeps going!

 

I see the summit!

Or not. It’s just a switchback.

The climb continues.

 

Views from mountaintops

go on forever and are

almost worth the climb.

 

Sisyphus, at least,

doesn’t need to lug his rock

back down the mountain.

 

If I ever plan

on climbing Mount Everest,

then slap me. Hard. Twice.

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