The Navigator

Our first night in Maine was decent
until the mosquitoes
came to claim their dues.
My father and I rolled up the windows
and left the rural rest stop
driving through the night
to the best cheap motel
I remember in a lifetime--
comatose for three hours
until check-out time arrived
since we were on a budget.

He bought sheets and bungee cords
to rig a canopy over his Camry.
I thought of what Bar Harbor wouldn't be
while trapped in a white sedan
unable to escape for a midnight piss.

At 15 I learned
how patient one can be.
Double the number
add a few more bloodsuckers:
I'm still here
writhing, with a smirk
and more fathers than I'd realized.

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