People Care

Saturday at the campsite,
After a week in the sand
By the spindly, rocky creek

Where they’d bathed, toddler daughter
Trying to pull crayfish out
From under the shadowed stones,

Mother up most of the night
Delighting in the cool air,
While eyeing the heat lightning

Over the mountains, aware
How flash floods could tear through here,
They let the afternoon bake

Prostrate them in the thin shade
Of the cottonwoods, until
Startled by an officer

From the local police force
Sent to check out a report
Of a car down by the creek

That hadn’t moved in a week.
His hand on his holstered hip,
He stood in the glaring sun

And quizzed them a little bit,
Then warned them they should move on
Soon. Soon as they could. They did.