Let’s Go Camping
By: Bekah Pollard
Turning and twirling let’s jump off the dock,
let’s go hurling swirling into the middle of the lake but
don’t choke on the wake, make sure you’re
back out in time for dinner.
Fish dinner. Fried fish. Never meat, not for me. Maybe that’s
why I don’t eat hotdogs now. That time I puked, threw
them up outside the tent, sitting on the mini-van’s bumper while
little brother slept inside. We had to go home even though
I had my princess pillowcase.
I grew up thinking if you threw up you’d have to go home, everything
would be ruined. Now I know you can throw up and still go to class.
You can pull off an exit to go get gas or buy some snacks or
even pee. It’s not that difficult. You can take your comforter off your bed
and snuggle up with it on the couch. Watch out, don’t step in any goose poop.
Seaweed fingers strangling my legs in the lake
slippery slime stopping me from going up the ladder
turning the corner and passing through green tentacles.
Gushy foot in pushy sand sloshing water onto land
blades of grass sticking on skin breathing in campfire smoke.