Thick beards and sunburns
Encrusted fingernails, neglected teeth
Odd sprains and blisters
Dry flasks of liquor, depleted tobacco
Food barrel light with empty zip-locks
Limited grimy clothes that stink
Of sweat and ash and bug spray.
We must leave these regions now
Now that we are now familiar
With the pace and the procedures
The exertions and the petty hardships
The aching morning scramble
Pounding water lake to lake
Endless crushing portages
Getting lost and correcting
Searching exhausted for that perfect site
Digging latrines and purifying water
Evening chores and endless stews
Picking for wood and awkwardly sawing
Cleaning and washing and sanitizing
Ritual onslaught of mosquitoes at dusk
Shifting in vain to recline on stone
To enjoy perhaps a starry sky
Fitful slumber on conspiring roots
On a narrow berth in a reeking tent.
And just as we come to know – again
Or convince ourselves at least
That little more is needed in life
That we could linger on like this
Among our rocks and lakes and trees
Without beer, without beef, without bed
We must leave these regions now
Shake off a rough and transitory bliss
For life needs more than little
And our sweethearts need us back
We must leave these regions
Taking memories and happy muscles
Filthy gear and better friendships
We must leave.

Robert Thomas writes poetry and short stories and is currently working on an alternative history novel. His poetry has appeared in Paper Plates, Autumn Sky Poetry, Witcraft and Panoply, and his fiction in The Mythic Circle, Dark Horses and Fabula Argentea (July 2024). He also likes camping and canoeing and cooking.