Lone Pine

​7-13-19
MS River St Park
Lone Pine Campground

In my mind it is 1965
And each picnic table
Is filled with lunch
Fresh off the grill
As mothers of young sons
Try to wrangle them together
to sit at the table

Instead, what I find here
today is that I am the
solitary tent pitched
in the state park

Sweat, dripping off my shoulders
as I wait for a breeze
that also seems to bring
a trio of butterflies

what was remorse for the present
becomes an acceptance of no
and wondering if this is what it would
be like if I were the last man alive