Well I am not going to run away
I am just going to walk
after all, it wasn’t me that through the rock
I didn’t even dare him to throw it!
He asked if I thought he could “chuck” it over the twisting road
over to the hill on the other side.
Before I could answer he was grunting and heaving.
I’m not even sure something weighing 8 pounds is even still considered a rock
I don’t think the driver of the black Porsche 911 who slammed on his brakes really cared about those descriptives
So up the hill I go, my lame brained cousin, hell bent for leather and nearly at the campground before I had walked 10 paces
Sweating and nervous, he sat at the table,
his face non-verbally pleading with me as if to say “please don’t tell”
I would not. It was a scary moment as the rock hung on its high arch as the car came from around the bend
But that was over now
We can enjoy a coke and a hotdog without worry
Its been a half-hour already, what’s to worry?
I’d always thought cop cars warned you of their approach with lights and sirens
I suppose this protocol is reserved for more hardened criminals
Those boys in blue are a salty bunch
I didn’t go to jail as an unsuspecting accomplice that day nor did my cousin
Instead, a whooping awaited he when he got home
as for me
I had to collect trash around the campsite
And that certainly beats a whooping.
Thank you for reading