Eighteen
I camped in the rain, no, don’t you worry,
I was dry, comfortable, sometimes tipsy
With drink, but mostly with some poems
And an atmospheric river rising.
It hadn’t let up for two straight days,
So I stayed inside to read and write
And for meals I visited the camp site
Next door, where my sister with bad knees
And a brother-in-law with advanced cancer
Were staying in their big rig. We played dice,
Ate, drank, kept track of all the drugs, and
Sometimes we laughed, made jokes about weather.
We had downpours, a sunny afternoon,
and snow: we savor what is gone too soon.
michael jarmer 