Drunk on playing hooky and Wild
Turkey, slip to the creek to make love,
oblivious to the danger presented
by sharp rocks and woken snakes.
Any minute now, a camper’s going
to stagger from a nearby tent, waving
a flashlight with one hand, grabbing
his fly with the other. Spy us
and forget to pee. So?? Got to camp
early, which meant time to take a dip
in the lake. Wore out the kids, yay.
Add blackened burgers, couple cans
of pork’n’beans and s’mores, strictly
lights out. Damp brown and yellow
cow-licks peek from Carolina blue
sleeping bags. New tent plenty big
enough to rig a curtain. You two
dragged in enough sand for a castle,
we teased over s’mores. Their turn
to laugh when I dropped my second
cracker. Chocolate rolled merrily
down my new One tee. Nothing
beats having kids. Nothing
beats sneaking in a little us-time.
Jungle loving in skin that tingles
from a good dose of sand and sun.
Not that drunk. Done, begin to chafe
where rocks dug and what-all.
We clamber up the bank, supporting
each other and feeling sheepish.
Not the brightest thing to do. Nor
the dumbest, our eyes meet to say.
What are a few scrapes and bruises?
Big stars wink in the spaces breeze-
tickled treetops open. Temp 70,
humidity 70. Big sites, nice folk.
Odd fly or skeeter, bit of grit with
your eggs and a rock or three, ‘s’awiiiight.
Just as long as time still stands still
while children sleepily open eyes
that they still believe a sandman fills.
Stay, World, stay.

(c) Phyllis Jean Green, May, 2008