The Camping Trip

The Camping Trip short poem

Photo by daystar297

The fathers are all crying
there is no more beer
so they drank the river water

now they weep like children
and the wives wring their hands
talk about amoebas, bacteria

the children tend the campfire
no one asks them to be nurses
or to wash their fathers’ faces

they sit at the fire holding switches
burning pure marshmallows
gelatin, sugar, tortured vanilla

fragrant seeds stripped out
by crones with cicatrix features
eyes and lips stitched over

they work their curses silent
and seek out the fleshy capsules
by scent and sense of touch

fragrant orchids twining up
the skeletons of unbelievers
holding their joints together

the children know the magic
appreciate the ritual of seared
confection and white-rimmed lips

their fathers forgot all that knowledge
at the altar of puberty preferring
masturbation to pure white bliss

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a poet from Seattle Washington USA. His poetry has appeared in print in publications such as Bellowing Ark, Point Nopoint, and most recently in Contraposition magazine. When not writing poetry he is a Human Resources professional, a repentant glutton, and a novelist specializing in the weird-fiction genre.
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