A passenger side ranger inquiry,
lead to fresh blinding light
and splashing potable water.
Campfire embers smoldered
after an evening’s neighborly introduction and proclamation
of “Uptown Pride.”
—We, not so much.
no room for outside,
where the suburbs subside.
Huddles of families on holiday,
weekend campers on parade;
an International Airstream
sat local in a vast
golden marsh glade.
Pulling from the Bulleit bottle,
to crack a cold and wet brew,
gathering sticks with the best,
for warmth under
the firmament in rolled tents.
Loud bullshit and no possessable fish,
dirty fingernails and a waxing moon paled.
Lagers along a road near the St. Croix river,
walking long lengths pinecone covered trails.
Shoes on jet rocked gravel drive;
where the sunrays seeped cutting dried eyes.
Here was Sunday morning,
packed and coming down
to the sound of classic rock, shutting doors, and moving tires.
How it got away.