Deep In The Forest Poem by Stan Petrovich

I took the overgrown trail
leading down to black water,
but I did not know what to do;
I am no woodsman;
don't know cucumbers from henbane;
but I ate some berries anyway
and ulcers formed in my mouth.
Nature is supposed to be a horn of plenty:
it is also a horn of disaster,
as I lay curled in pain and convulsing.
From this point on, should I survive,
I will stick to the dunes, and carry distilled water
and granola bars. The deep woods are frantic
with divebombing insects all wishing to sting one;
and lizards big enough to chase you down,
inflictig a bite that festers over days,
so when they find you crawling with disease
they eat you.
I, by rote, am now a city-dweller,
although, mind you, the dunes of the clean desert
call: at least there one can see the snakes ahead of time...