Vacation

In Maine the roads ran from
Highway to local to track
You, me and your son

Looking for the elusive moose
Before the sun slipped into the
Tall trees

The boxy car we left
At the edge of the cemetery
A rebuke to the aloof

Our tread a song of summer
Dry and hard
Insects charging

There and there
A shadow
Moose moving

I caught your eye
Concocting a story
To be offered at show and tell

The three of us
Creeping the backwoods
At the edge of America where

I passed your boy a stick
To thrash the dry grasses

Took a picture to remember
The game getting the better of us.