Carve our Initials Next

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