It may be true that
I found a big wad of maggots
In my gear bag
Due to the apricot left there
While fishing with the boys
And it surely is true that
My fuckin flashlight is shot
All corroded and burnt out
And we all know that
My headlamp won't turn off
And thus isn't worth a damn
And it's strikingly obvious that
It's 10:15 PM and I haven't packed
Any one thing in my Duluth Pack
Instead I'm drinking beer
And typing at pixels
But the best part is that
None of that matters
Because when this fleet
Of hair and feather
Is turned loose up there
All that bad shit
And even my wisps of gray hair
Will be forgotten