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Smokey Mountain Pines
Paint-less planks corralled
into a square-
ramshackle windows slashed in walls
allowing air,
framed and born of earth but over it,
pine tree to hide me, I'm alone they
hold me in my peeking at the billhilly family
taking dinner in their mountain home.
But the city boy with a campground Tee
who left his own family in search for
other things
beyond the pine's protecting ring,
past the concrete showers
around beyond the well stocked lake,
trout so thick you could grab dinner-
no need for rods and reels
but the need of the boy
to experience, to feel;
he knew something not known was in the pines,
which brought him to his sneaky spot.
And the man
forty years later never forgot-
can still see the boy get up from family dinner,
walk to the screen less window, pee on the needles below
and sit back down.
Nothin' from Ma, or Pa-
no fuss for normal stuff
That lesson learned and caught
for free for a rambling;
not all folks see as I see or do as my parents do-
a newness on a life still new
that runaway day in the Smoky Mountain pines.
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