He glowered on the hood of the car,
likely because there was no beer
and no money to buy beer,
but she hadn't made that connection yet.
She was making pancakes, for supper,
because there was no money
to buy food either,
and there were kids to feed.
Their tents were borrowed and old
and collapsing, and the night it rained,
they woke in the morning in a puddle,
with the wet top of the tent
lying on their chests.
They had no ground covers or pads
and they slept in a cold chill,
like trout on a fridge shelf,
waiting for morning.
That night, towards midnight,
she felt the sleeping bag
puff up with malevolent air
pressing down on her
till she woke screaming,
and flinging it off her.
They got up, and sat by the dying fire
for a while, his arm around her, now,
in comfort, likely feeling guilty.
A police car made a slow circle
through the campgrounds.
Someone must have called
when they heard the screaming.
In the morning, the littlest boy
had wriggled out of his sleeping bag
and half out of the tent.
It was not the happiest
But they saw lakes and mountains
and glaciers and wolves
before they went home.