Camp Next Week

One fluffy marshmallow on a stick,
         the flame will lick
         until puss-brown or black,
squandered in a fire that devours my snack.

I wield my trusty can of bug spray about.
         It smells without a doubt.
         Guaranteed to repel any pest,
except bloodsucking skeeters that won't let me rest.

Rain pours down on our tented town.
         I look up with a frown.
         I've sprung a leak!
Better pick up my pack and camp next week!