-we the people-

the beaches were not on its scheduled route

but the local Bedford and County bus

picked-up its daily passengers at the stop
on Bedford at the park's right field line
on route to Main Street

before circling its way back to County

via Bedford, and if by chance

neighbors, friends of the family or blood-
relations with licenses to drive cars
were unavailable, my young mother
would ready us for the beach nonetheless,

walking us through the entryway into the backyard where

she'd lay a bed blanket over the ground,—

(the ground, a mixture of dirt, pebbles and dotting
puddles of, I trust, rainwater between tufts

of grass and weeds) tucked beneath
the kitchen window where the great sink was located.

she often mentioned her desire
for a second phone-line
to be installed in the kitchen,— one, she'd say,
(while serving the starchy supper tables)

whose telephone would be equipped
with an extraordinary cord whereby

she could con the heavy communicator

down to the blanket beneath the window
where we, my younger brother, older sister
and me, lounged in the sunlight with neither sand
nor saltwater in sight,— but

who could have known of such a thing

as two telephones for one tenement occupied by
we the people of 1017 Bedford, north of County,

living our lives in the pursuit of happiness?

                                                  Quequechan