Cathy Barber

You can’t believe how resourceful
I’ve become. A whole section
of the forest surrounded by mirrors
so I can sunbathe uninterrupted.
An 8 x 8 square of forest floor
that lifts on plywood, configured with leaves,
toadstools, small rocks, broken branches,
all carefully glued to look authentic.
That ersatz root cellar is where I
live. I have an extra-long cot
from a hunter’s cabin, a chair,
some shelves with books
and my collection of cameras
abandoned by the curious but cowardly.
Most of my creature comforts
I’ve pilfered from the Kmart lot,
which could really use better
security, if they’re reading this.

I used to travel quite a bit;
you’ve probably heard of my fondness
for the Himalayas. I’ve found the
undersides of trucks useful, the
topsides of boxcars, and once,
in Canada, I just said fuck it
and stole a car.
I used to be much more of a ham,
dashing from tree to tree
just for the attention, but in recent years,
I’ve settled down.
I’ve grown tired of being on the move
and just want to put my big feet up
and loaf. Maybe I’ll tap into the electricity grid,
run a line out here and get a TV.
I’ve heard so much about the new reality shows
and of course, the nature channel.