I have moved and left much clutter,
In the back shed, called a den,
Under my breath, it causes a mutter,
Such a conglomerate is hard to defend.
Canoe paddles and life vests, plus a camp stove,
Stowed canoes with rock-marked hulls,
From wilderness rivers I once did rove,
With an eye to eagles and distant gulls.
Useful stuff, not really antiques,
Like memories and maps of sojourn’s past,
‘Mid forests and rivers between mountain peaks,
Over lands so marvelously vast.
Now they rest, a gathering in chaos,
The day is damp with a cold rain shower,
A little room for a touch of pathos,
As I marvel at distance in time’s power.
Perchance an item for the road show’s antique,
Used with dexterity, before joints did squeak.
Francis Conlon is a retired and recovering teacher. For the past 20 years, he has worked as a seasonal river ranger and boat inspector at Yampa River State Park in northwest Colorado. He has published in the local Valley Voice and in Westward Quarterly. He currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.