cold morning at two moons lagoon

           

            Most of us huddled near the lagoon

had sweepstakes numbers pending;

            In daybreak's chill, we prayed in hallowed commune,

            our frosted breath ascending,

            for the luck of the fishermen to turn

            as our hunger rose with the sun.

            The campfire blew lonely smoke

            that smelled of burning reeds

            and not fried fish.  We awoke

            aware that breakfast hung on deeds,

            Teeth and words chattered

            but only food mattered.

            The cook emerged from her tent

            bidding everyone to repent

            and end God's curse on the fishermen.

            She tired of standing o'er the empty pan,

            and blew a grey mass of breath in a sigh;

            "I feel heavy on my feet," was her plump reply.

Thank God for the crackers

            that the Carter kids had stuck in their packs.

            We divvied up for breakfast

            what those whiny tots had hid for snacks.

                                    -- Wyoming, 1975