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Survival of the Fittest
Poems about Camping and Hiking
by Steve Kissing
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Excerpts
Raccoons
These cute and surprisingly smart
Bandits emerge after midnight and use
Their tiny, human-like hands to pry
Open our coolers for a picnic of their own.
After feasting on hot dogs, Pop Tarts, soda
And other man-made grub, these junk food junkies
Return to their dens and slip into a food and drink
Coma, just as we are emerging from our own,
Wiping our eyes with our own little hands.
Carrying Capacity
Before I met your mother, I used to cut the strings
Off of teabags, trim the edges off of topographic
Maps, and slice the sleeves off of T-shirts: anything
To reduce, ounce by ounce, the weight of my backpack
As I hiked with buddies through state and national
Forests—marriage and family life seemingly further
Away than the city noise that I left behind.
But now camping means stuffing a mini-van
With metal coolers, queen-sized air mattresses
And the other requisite gear to keep you,
Your mother and your three sisters comfortable
In our favorite—nearby—county campground.
This is the last trip of the summer before you
Head off to college, and once again I find myself
Cutting something loose, albeit not by choice,
And even though you weigh nothing at all.
Family Camping
Your mom pissed me off
Because she forgot to pack the bug spray.
(I must have gotten bit a million a times!)
She then gave me the silent treatment
For getting upset “over nothing.”
I spanked your sister because
She ran too close to the fire too many
Times—despite plenty of warnings.
(I swear that kid’s deaf!)
She stopped talking to me, too.
And you, well, what choice did I have
But to ground you for smashing
Your sister’s lightning bugs?
(That was way out of line—and you know it!)
You had nothing to say to me either.
The three of you are asleep in the tent,
And I am alone by the fire, wondering
If I am too hard on you all—and whether
Or not anyone, besides the birds,
Will talk to me in the morning.
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