written By
In the New England dirt, freshmen parents planted roots. A mom, dad, and
child drove around town spotting fledgling land. Settlers without blueprints,
a family built a home. Dreams in hands clutched like scratch off tickets for
the jackpot.
Dandelion fuzz blown from lips of suntanned children, on egg-on-a-sidewalk
evenings. Herds fanned out, playing in hamlet plots and cul-de-sacs. Recycled
songs blared on intercoms, piggy banks were dumped onto beds, quarters
counted. Little feet darted for the ice cream truck on its route.
Music blasted from cars racing down the bite-sized town highway. Drivers
dented crooked stop signs, revved up mowers and gasoline smell. Overgrown
grass had its haircut, the neighbors were out front and back. Sipping cold
brews on porches, setting in the distant sun, years spent young.
