BOONDOCKERS

On Saturday morning I jumped out of bed,

put on my husky Toughskins, tube socks,

a Flyers ski cap and a red plaid flannel shirt.

I laced up my boondockers and headed off

to the woods of my youth in South Jersey.

I heard men laughing, the chainsaws buzzing,

logs clunking into the bed of an old Ford pickup.

I found my Grandfather with his teacher friends

on the edge of a soy bean field, near the pond

I’d fallen into more than thirty some years ago.

I ran to the forest, stopped to exchange stares

with a whitetail deer, found the brook where

the scared muskrats scurried and an otter swam.

I climbed trees, crossed streams, chucked rocks,

took cover behind maples, charged a hill with sticks,

breathed in cold fresh air and it made me invincible.