[campsite reporter].

We packed light.
Everything had to fit on our lake-sized speedboat.
Tents and coolers,
Snacks and firewood,
Cruising around,
Ambushed by the waves from river boats,
Racing the sunset,
Trying to find a beach to call home for the next three days.
I liked when we were close to the sand hills,
Running up and rolling down them during the day,
Swimming off their sandbars.
It was quiet there,
Just the four of us on the Mississippi.
Mom sunbathing with sunscreen on,
Dad with his magazines and two pairs of glasses,
One blocked the sun; the other made the words readable.
And my sister with me,
Her playmate for the weekend.
We were investigators by day, finding stories to report late by the fire.
Don Shelby and Amelia Santanello,
She made me be the boy,
With out my knowledge of course.
Interrupted only by buzzing mosquitoes and obnoxious shouting commercials from
campers down river.


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