Burning Embers Poem by Mark Heathcote

Burning embers a setting a story
blown back alive in the morning hoarsely
eyes forced-open feed on their delight
the fire, entire survived one whole night.

Soon, bacon will be frying, fat sizzling
and hands will be warm - stopped from shaking
hot tea in a billycan steams away
riverside camping? Wow, great, don't they all say?

But I hate them thick, dense clouds of gnats
that hovers around these kinds of habitats
give me lots of insect repellent; sure enough
then I won't wake up feeling too gruff.

Tickle me a trout as big as your walking shoe
I'll fry it in butter, and then I'll make love to you,
following 'which' we can both lie about
there afterwards, watch the stars all burn out.