Summer Camp
This is it. The time to be shipped off, Carted away.
A week doesn't seem long— Until you must be called by the dead name And return to where you tried To end your life From the isolated splitting away From anyone you remotely Trust.
This is it. The time to be shipped off, Carted away.
A week doesn't seem long— Until you must be called by the dead name And return to where you tried To end your life From the isolated splitting away From anyone you remotely Trust.
The speaker is facing a week at summer camp, and the poem makes clear it feels nothing like a holiday. The opening lines, "shipped off" and "carted away," treat the speaker like cargo, something moved around with no say in the matter.
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