no one was there to tell us what to do,
so we followed ditch’s request,
we said, the hash must go on.

whomever may have gathered at the house of the grinders of meat,
listened to the instructions.

some of the instructions were clear. 
some of the instructions were followed.
the weather was clear.
some of the minds were clear also,
perhaps?

the virgins looked perplexed,
the hares attempted to set expectations.
they may have failed?

so we set out, and they followed.

there was a return, of sorts, to the place of origin.
and we drank.
and some talked.
then some quit.

the virgins were tired, or not impressed.
it wasn’t clear.
some others were tired, or not impressed.
it wasn’t clear.

but we few remaining said, the hash must go on,
still hoping to fulfill ditch’s request.
‘have fun’.

so we went the other way ‘round this time.
i think it was counter-cockwise,
some may not agree.
but, alas, we made it back.

then we drank.and some complained.
some talked.

a circle of sorts ensued.
it was kind of a circle, maybe more like a pentagram? 
accusations were made,
evidence was later gathered.
(also stroller tracks were still evident?)
we ‘sang’ songs, if we’re being generous.
we raised a glass to POCKET,
and dung shit led us in prayer.

then some split.
some went to on-after,
including the incredibly cute just-millie.
a picture of mis-matched socks was taken.
and there was much rejoicing.

-On-On POCKET!!!, we missed hashing with you that day!!

-just My Daddy’s Meat

p.s. some on NextDoor wondered what was going on