Camp

The smell of wood smoke drifts through
The air with no presence of mind to settle anywhere
Except on the clothes of old men who struggle to 
Open tin cans with the anticipation of a child with
An unopened gift.

Cardboard schemes and wooden things create
Shelter for the menagerie of characters who dwell within
Their sanctuaries of loneliness and pipe dreams...some
Have made little windows to view a world that is slightly
Askew to their likening.

Around a fire grumblers grumble, jokers joke about
Their predicaments of life and sing songs of Camelot
Where no knights slay dragons, no same ls in distress
To be rescued by this tortilla flat would be heroes...
A sense of normalcy exists here.

We count our blessings like we count our coins.
We count on our friends and we count on no one
To bring a shovel and dig us out of the sludge
Of life that we live beside this river in makeshift
Castles of trash.

Sundown and you smell pots of what's not cooking
And the nervous chatter of women holding Steinbeck
Children whose eyes long for wishes and dreams
That only reach out as far as they can see...I weep 
For their innocence.

Darkness comes and the drunks are drunker...me,
Myself and I chase the dragon once more to escape
This reality of camp life whose existence is a foreboding
For society to take heed...don't they know they are one
Paycheck away from being me?

The smell of sleep surrounds the camp, some
Dreaming, some not, but all aware of tomorrow and
Thee morning's smokey haze of disillusionment and
Paranoia of leaving this secret seclusion...actors
Without a stage.

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.