Hen Camp

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