Camping curse
a cherry-glazed donut
fire pit
spews sour lava
amongst itchy chits.

Remember,
Satan is circular.
Branches browned
form a bowtie blaze;
his glow gathers us ‘round.

Sputtering
carburetor spikes;
evil loves a nickname
whispered through
transmission fluid flames.

Empire waist
night crinkles ashen spots.
Brave Pietá
mourns the blest body
of this year’s bonfire cheetah.


Flashback Track #33 is all about summertime. Join me in creating an elegy to one of your favorite parts to this fleeting season.

6 responses to “A Campfire Curse”

  1. We bought a tent with the intention of going camping. Mrs B outright refused to go near it. We did at least put it up in the back garden and daughter and I slept in it. Until about 4 am, when daughter decided she wanted to go in because she was cold, and I just decided “f this”.
    We are not a very hardy family.

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    1. Don’t need a tent to start a fire though. I prefer fire, fireflies, and then mattress for dreaming. Although, I’ll tent up if the right occasion presents itself. There is sometime to be said for a blanket of stars.

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      1. I must have been single digits when I camped properly. Scouts. Like all good boys.

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  2. Burning transmission fluid, yikes! A fun read!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Ty John. It’s been a fiery sort of summer this one.

      Liked by 1 person

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