Sputterpub's Blog

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.

Uncertain about toilets, sleeping rough,
the river work, the weather, and the wet,
I valued sibling benefits enough
to purchase neoprene and risk regret.
We rafted down a canyon fifty miles,
engorged in desert, walled in stone and glass.
We followed currents, threaded boulder aisles,
and rapidly succeeded middle class.

I never worried. I felt no distress.
My biggest problem may have been cold feet,
and they were warmed ashore. I must confess,
my satisfaction with the trip’s complete.
As if we poured oblations, we were graced
with life’s perfection everywhere we faced.

Five days away from Internet and phone
exceeded expectation. We fifteen
had solitude where no one was alone
except for shitting minutes. In between
the rafting, we conversed or dined or slept
without alarms or heartburn. Global news
could not invade us. Nowhere that we stepped
was marked by human past or present use.

The ground beneath me every night felt strong
and giving: sleep was thorough; dreams were sweet.
My body timing never did me wrong –
the urges were appropriate, complete,
and fleeting. Nothing far and not a week
bestowed ideas I hadn’t thought to seek.