Crackling rocks beneath the tires
Skip in every direction across the narrow,
Rocky alley
That leads to the cracker box—
Tinted with mint shutters
And the gaudy red door
That opens to the always-too-hot living room
Where the kids
(Those 3-53 years old)
Wrestle and play
When the rain dances on the sheet metal roof
And lather on sunscreen
When rays skip off the lake
And test the shades resting on our noses
That nearly slip off
When we scoop bass from each cast
That will sit on our stomachs
And soothe us to sleep
In front of the only TV this place
Has ever called its own,
Flashing Scooby and Shaggy
For the hundredth time—
That, for the next 48 hours,
Will serve us well.