Tom’s River: A Poem of Portage
by Monica Orso
Saturday, June 4, 2011
A pleasant enough day when it started, boats lined up and ready to go,
A cool breeze, a turtle to please, and a lovely tea colored water flow.
The shuttle was easy, met with critters made of flowers,
But what lied ahead was flavored oh so sour!
The trees were aimed so as not to please, a task they completed quite well,
Under and over, wading and towing, the river was a wet version of Hell.
Poison ivy and thorns were assaulting, they were keeping very true to their form,
While branches they smacked and then entrapped, until we were undeniably forlorn.
How far we had gone we had not a clue, the GPS not helping to see,
Around every bend an audible groan, no mercy or option to be free.
Then a glimmer of hope with a trail in the brush, a wondrous road at the end,
And a sweet lady so kind, giving a ride, so as to help us all mend.
Phil was so tired and I’m sure uninspired, his scouting had revealed no such fate,
But nature had played it’s game on us all, and made sure we arrived home very late.
The shower felt good, the wine even better, my scratches and bruises now tamed,
This trip will go down as one for the club’s “Most Memorable Trips Hall of Fame”!