Camp Zombies


May 31, 2016

Attempting to lounge
really lay back and take it all in
in my blue Coleman camping chair
sitting awfully low to the ground
next to the firepit with logs half burned
from a fire I couldn’t keep
my right hand revealing signs of a struggle
ash first, then peanut butter

I sit by the pit (no fire)
because that’s what people do
when camping

A nearby site masks the sound 
of morning waves crashing against cliffs
with Rihanna and her damn umbrella

the site across from me
kicks around a hacky sack
while a bearded man-child
wearing a Pokemon backpack
plays harmonica, not so bad

but there’s a gaggle of them
jabbering away

I nod hello as I walk past others   
no one seems to reciprocate
not so friendly around these parts 
save for the kids

Visited twice by camp zombies
Hunter and Lake
8 and 6 respectively

they had the right idea
faces painted with mom’s makeup
invoking the spirit of the wild
kicking up dirt and darkness

with stories of rotting flesh

In their state of youth
they remain playful, open
to the strangeness that surrounds

A squirrel eyes me, intently
from across the tiny plot of dirt

as if to reclaim his homestead
and declare this land his
it is after all

I hear a toilet flush
and see a whale sized trailer depart
with its wide-load living

And think, this is us getting back to basics
this is us disconnecting

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