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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=520716" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Gunnery Range Camping</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=520716" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">It was illegal, but I and a buddy<br>Made camp on a gunnery range in Yuma County, in May<br>Of a certain year, when it was Already 115 degrees F., and, <br>At sunset, over the backdropp of some unnamed butte, <br>I watched a vulture carrying a snake in its talons, <br>High in flight.<br>That day, hiking alone to the south, <br>I stopped to take a drink from my canteen, <br>And looking up, locked eyes with a mountain lion.<br>She was watching me from atop a rocky ridge, <br>Only about twenty-five feet above, <br>And was indifferent.<br>The night was indifferent as well, <br>As we drank strong drink<br>And listened to an AM radio broadcast of a basketball game<br>From Phoenix far away. The Suns lost.<br>Insects divebombed into our cups and Stevie Wonder music played.<br>I had aligned the truck-bed with candles, <br>As I had previously aligned a cleft <br>In the scorpion-infested badlands of Anza-Borrega.<br>The Suns lost that one, too.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Stan+Petrovich">Stan Petrovich</a></strong></div>

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