the atmosphere of a place that is usually bustling with people
but is now abandoned and quiet.
One hundred and six.
Campsites, that is;
with a sugar hump of dunes between
them and a freshwater sea.
March first begins claiming dibs
as fingers square-dance to ticking timers
faster than ticket nabbing to see Pearl Jam.
The first weekend in June hear the rumble
as an interstate convoy from myriad stick-built gps dots
converge on one hundred and six spots.
Camping, a term that wiffles and waffles
a spectrum, includes
pup tents to airstreams,
charcoal racks to stainless steel gas grills,
AM transistor radios to dish antennas,
hot dogs to tenderloin,
beer to beer to beer.
Waves all day, campfire smoke all night,
sleep unwanted and scarce as wildlife.
Then they pack up and a new crop arrives.
It’s deja vu summer for dazed rangers.
The end of August appears;
as the last campers look
through rearview mirrors.
Kenopsia settles in as critters return
and leaves begin to consider turning.
Townies smile: tourist season is over.
amazing to see tent campers here in December, but here they are.
I wrote this about a campground near here, the same one I walked in on Sunday. I’m sure the campers do much more than what’s listed in the poem, but that’s how I see them.
Linda Lee Lyberg is today’s host of dVerse’ Poetics. Linda says:
I am going to share with you a list of 10 words from The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, by John Koenig and a shortened version of their meaning. You are free to choose one or more (or all!) of the words to write a poem. I chose the word kenopsia.