KOA Circa 1801

Sparks rise into the cold black air.

We the living huddle by the source.

We’ve a pail of frigid water to wash our hair

And the lot of us smell more or less like horse.

The moon is but a crack in gloomy midnight.

Our dinner was a lukewarm can of beans.

We’re thirsty after hours in harsh sunlight

But there’s no clean water to fill up our canteens.

Somewhere in the blackness comes a growling

And we dare not leave our camp to take a piss.

All the while Daddy is a smiling

While the rest of the family thinks “we paid for this?”