Bungalow Colony

Mowed grass, katydids, tree frogs. Lie on the bed in the bungalow, listen to thousands of 'em. Snuggle up Des, who is acting more like a little boy every day. I slap my hand on the couch twice and he slaps his twice. I hold him on my lap facing Staci and we pretend he is Fats Domino. He giggles, facing front, then turns back to stare at me. He's got huge eyes, big curls, arms and thighs rubbery with fat.

Dan, Bells and Barb are driving up from Brooklyn, Staci, Desmond and I took the train to Secaucus and another to Middletown where we rented a car and drove the remaining twenty minutes.

These bungalows are all just marking time, falling in, their rooves leaking, siding exposed, wiring faulty, appliances seeping gas. It is only a matter of time, a few years, maybe even decades, but the grass will be king again. 

But not yet. It's lovely here.