Gone Camping

When Mark stumbles out of his green tent, exposing his Transformers pj’s, the bopping grass yawns at him.

When his quilted hands drop the flashlight; rattling two D batteries the patched stars blink at him.

When he bumps into the slumbering bushes, its thorns turn over and cover themselves with leaves.

When he walks over the tucked shadows, a whispering breeze slithers up his thermals forcing him back into his unzipped sleeping bag.


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