Anchor Bay Campground

We’re finally here. Rain won’t stop. So much water. Love the beach. I don’t today. Uncle and cousin. They are stranded. It’s dark out. Grim clouds overhead. The open sea. Raging waves hit. Clueless Coast Guard. My aunt distraught. Everyone is worried. I can’t focus. So much happening. Scared it’s true. The motors broken. Forced to go. Wouldn’t have happened. Peering over cliffs. Searching without caution. Unreachable by helicopter. Hours of waiting. Chance of hypothermia. Best of all. My cousins’ birthday. He is twenty-one.

Always safe. Braiding kelp. Bodies overheating. Not worried. Swam ashore. Hugs follow. Worries decreasing. Panic ceases. Much relief. Emotionally drained.  Exaggerated tons. Pointless scare. Save boat? Save motor? Worth it? Definitely not.

It’s the next day. We’re having a luau. We dig the hole deep. The sand was dry. Now deeper, it’s wet. We put down coal. We start a fire. Now coals blistering red. We put in the meat. All wrapped in foil. We’re waiting to eat. Tide slowly creeping up. We’re starting to worry. We start to build. Indestructible barriers of anything. tough Walls of everything. Barriers not so strong. Torn down and rebuilt. We’re not fast enough. Now least expecting it. Wave wipes out all. Dogs, people, and food. Scrapes, cuts and bruises. We try and salvage. We save the food. Everyone is accounted for. The food is raw. We cook it elsewhere. Then it’s finally done. It tastes so good. We worked so hard. We taste our labor. Everything tastes better camping. This was a long day. The following day, sunny.  Our last day here. Better luck next time.

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741