Hoolie Bacon

M.E. Bredimus

From the trailhead looking west at the caldera,
tuff remnants tower gold above the green.
This may not have been the best idea
seeing how barbed acacia crowds our way.

The dogs prefer the shade cast by windmill,
Aerometer, Chicago with a tank.
Three of us are wishing for longer pants,
pliers, or someone wide to take the lead.

We escape the prickly pear, fall victim
to foxtail. The dogs’ tails catch everything,
threaten to deflate all our sleeping pads,
wagging them around camp above Red Tanks.

Red cardinals whistle two notes, get up.
I ask them to shut up and let me sleep.
The tent crackles with our staticky hair
stirred by woolly socks on our stinky feet.

We head toward Randolph Canyon, not LaBarge,
add extra distance with my oversight.
What’s an extra night with mountain lions,
hurdling rattlesnakes getting to the car?

A cow trough holds filthy dinner water.
We pitch camp in the trail and mak’er do.
The city lights glitter beyond our reach,
all bottled drinks safe until tomorrow.

 

Hoolie Bacon and Red Tanks are hiking trails through Arizona's dramatic landscapes.

More Poetry Atlas poems about Arizona.