What You Do Around the Campfire

What You Do Around the Campfire

Pig on the spit
A feast

For
All.

Wearing out
Our welcome
In funny beach comedy style,

We swig
Cheaply
And break the zipper

‘round midnight

the coyotes come to
feast and scare

us
to death.

The fog rolls
As Grady

Dons a fat suit
And sweats

Out yesterday’s
Dr Pepper and Vivarin

While Margaret
Drives the midnight blue Vega

And watches
Me with the gulls

It's back
To swim
With the youngsters

Afterwards treat
My scalp

For “classic staph”

I call you
From a wal-mart phone
And leave
Cryptics that night

You promptly
Pre-empt an intercept
And tell the Englishman to hike

I was young then
I should tell you

Crayons were
My instruments of choice.

I work hard
At putting these together
So you can read
And meditate how you fit in
Which pronoun is you
As in which she am i.
Things are getting ugly
With the swirlies and the ADD
Kicking down the doors of
My sanctuary.

Just know that
I don’t dream of you
At the beach
‘cause I never saw you there

there is no sand in the li’l pink pouch
(which I’ve misplaced).
You gave me a book and a pen
And a bottle of wine
For Xmas –
Which I read, and used,
And drank. Thank you.

(These are
The things
That I found washed up,

Encased in
Beach tar, which no
Amount of scrubbing
Can remove).


-jim hill (12-17-08)