Hen Camp
It was a couple days with very little
With few toiletries or a handle to jiggle
And no mirror on the wall
Or need to comb one’s hair at all
They slept in old hospital beds
With a tin roof there above their heads
And would rise with the dawn
To search for bed bugs they’d slept on
They cooked on an old wood stove
And told their stories new and old
With an occasional little story
That one would embellish to great glory
There was the campfire that they stoked
Where they would sometimes drink their cokes
As the post oak logs burned down
And made their loud popping sounds
Each hen would readily admit
That she suffered there a bit
But that was the point they all would say
To make them thankful for modern ways
The next camp will soon start
With reservations needed to be a part
With limited bedding there available
And limited seats at the rummy table
Next year I would apply
But it’s not a thing for a guy
So I’ll just have to be sated
With the thought it’s overrated