The Camp Bus

The camp bus was waiting;
The child was in tears.
The dad was crouched down in a squat.
I heard not a word
But I knew that the boy
Had his stomach tied up in a knot.

The counselor was patient;
The child rubbed his eyes.
The father spoke softly and calm.
I fell back in time
And remembered a day
When I, too, tried to quiet a qualm.

I walked on and wondered,
Quite certain I knew
That the bus and that boy went to camp;
And the dad left for work
With his nerves in a knot
And his eyes, like his son’s, slightly damp.