A Tent Lament
© Brenda-Joy Pritchard
Winner, 2026 Silver Quill Written Bush Poetry Competition, Pinjarra, WA.
Some nasty critters can be found
in bush-land places on the ground –
(Australia has them all),
and ‘happy campers’ do not come
from ladies bitten on the b…
when Nature makes her call.
To help alleviate this state
my ever-thoughtful, hubby mate
procured an en suite tent* –
a safer place for what we’d need
with privacy now guaranteed,
away out bush we went.
We set up camp and now the loo,
would only take a sec. or two!
Unzip!... A tortured ‘suite’
broke loose from its confining bag.
A gust unfurled it like a flag,
(an air balloon on heat,...
...a wind-sock in a hurricane),
that monster seemed to go insane,
it bowled me to the ground.
Then hubby had to take control
with guiding ropes and fishing pole
and sticks and pegs he’d found.
At night the wind did not abate.
That en suite kept us up real late
(it thought it was a kite).
We knew we’d made a big mistake.
In fear we vowed that we would take
it down at dawn’s first light.
Next morn, the tent’s instruction sheet
told how to pack that beast up neat.
I read it carefully.
“First lean him over, pop him out,
flip him across and round about,
the logo you should see.
“Lift up, fold over, bend and twist
with right arm over left arm wrist,
then drop him to your feet...”
My chance of doing that was slim.
(I wondered why they called it ‘him’!)…
Have coffee, then repeat!
I’m not too sure just what I did,
(missed out a step I’ll bet a quid).
That living thing broke free.
I got my foot caught in a fold.
Those pegs were never meant to hold
(and neither was the tree).
As hubby fumbled with his tools
it zapped him in the family jewels.
(He turned a ghostly grey!)
Around and ‘round the tent unfurled,
then through the air my hubby whirled.
I watched him shoot away.
Meanwhile that monster full of guile,
with death-roll like a crocodile,
entrapped me in its flap.
It flipped me over once or twice,
its brace poles held me in a vice
(a Mummy in a wrap).
Then with the dog and I inside,
that suite took off intent to ride
the airwaves to the sky.
It got ensnared upon a tree,
broke loose and left the dog and me
all hung out high and dry.
Up there, ten metres from the ground,
I saw my hubby wrapped around
a tall, electric shaft.
It took the local fire brigade
to save us from this escapade
that almost sent us daft.
As for the en suite, there’s a chance
it mated in some ‘brolga dance’
that made the local news.
Away out west where willies blow
it’s where all feral en suites go –
to haunt the kangaroos.
*en suite tent — small, pop-up tent sold for use as a camping change room, bathroom or toilet.
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