Gimlet-Eyed - Sept 17 2023

 

Gimlet-Eyed

Sept 17 2023

The tent leaked.

It was a box-like thing,

squat and squarish and cramped

in a wretched olive brown.

Not light, space-age

ventilated,

but mildewed canvas

that was heavy as hell

even when it wasn’t wet.

We slept there all summer,

enveloped in the stagnant air

onion breath

and fetid farts

of pre-adolescents,

boys

far from home

for the first time.

All new to us,

including the bad food

biting bugs

and morning dips

in the freezing cold

there was no getting out of.

An outhouse

without any plumbing

that stunk so much

we held it as long as we could.

Under the supervision

of other boys

not much older than us.

Whom we thought of as men

yet clearly weren't

with their acned skin

and peach fuzz beards

and fumbling tries at sex.

But there were no girls here

in this swampy place

that reeked of testosterone

and unwashed socks.

The funny thing

Is how I remember it.

Not with the gimlet-eyed clarity

of all I just said,

but as the best time of my life.

Ahhh, to be young again.

To not know any better.

To have best friends forever.

To live in the moment

with such singular presence

that even that tubercular tent

seemed like paradise.