Anticipating missing plumbing, bed,
the food my fussy appetite demands,
I went to earth reluctantly. Instead
of rough conditions, I had calmer hands,
more restful sleep, a better moving gut,
than what I am accustomed to at home.
I ate but never snacked; I healed my butt;
I seldom missed my mirror or my comb.
And maybe it was Chula Vista years,
or camping in Death Valley, tufa fields
and rattlesnakes, but lack of noise appears
a solace; life away from cars appeals.
It’s not a matter of intelligence,
that everything about the place made sense.