In Tents

In Waltham, on a Soccer field

A city of pink tents was pitched.

A neighborhood with real thin walls

Some chat, some snore, some mainly itched.

In the distance, thunder rumbled.

Streaks of lightening split the sky

Soon, I knew, the rain would come here.

We must find shelter, you and I.

I am not the outdoors type-

Five star hotels are more my speed,

But out here on the soccer field

Tent building skills are what I need

I 'liberate' a sheet of tarp

To serve as floor for our domain

And with your help I pitched the tent

while laughing in the pouring rain.

Once inside the nylon bubble

(My shoes and clothes quite soaked with rain)

A tiny leak, a Chinese torture

Drop by dropp upon my brain..

Back out again into the Tempest

Back out across the sodden field

I’m seeking out a piece of plastic

to keep out the piss warm rain.

I return to our tent in triumph

A sheet of propylene I found

Is just the thing to keep the rain out

I plop down on the slick wet ground..

The woman in the tent beside us

Like a lusting Walrus snores,

But twenty miles this day behind us

I soon won’t care if Lions roar.

poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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