Making Do
The holiday cabin smelled of wet pigeons
but it was lakeside and cheap.
The lake was not popular,
too deep and weedy for swimming,
too shallow for docking boats,
yet it suited our make-do mindsets.
Of course,
we were romantically attached at the hips,
feet glided upon air
as we wandered upon the pebbly beach
fingers entwined in a dank mist.
Graham crackers and marshmallows
were unpacked
alas the firepit was soaked
with too much leafy fog.
A desultory fire was sparked
in a damp bed beneath a mildewed roof.
We had only tomato soup, tough bagels
and a pack of Marlborough.
We had not planned for chills and hunger.
Inevitably the vacation
grew lukewarm.
Runny noses and sneezes,
the cheesy smell of wet footwear
all seeped deeply into our gestalt,
philosophically
we bailed on the quickly drenched dream,
and each other.
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