Narragansett, Rhode Island,
My home away from home,
My solace,

The encasement of my true self,
In four bedrooms and two and a half baths.
Waking up,
The clickety-clack of the,
Practically,
Ancient ceiling fan,
The fresh air,
Blowing through the open window,
The rushing,
To get dressed, to go downstairs,
The television,
Until everyone wakes up anyway.
Mornings at the beach,
Jumping in the waves,
Relaxing in the sand,
Going home to shower,
Having icees,
Then going to the park with my cousins,
Even though we’re all too old.
So we go to Cumberland Farms,
And buy Slushies,
Or Slurpeees,
Or whatever,
And a pack of Skittles,
And start walking home,
Hiding behind lampposts because my cousin was in charge,
And we weren’t supposed to,
Um,
Leave the house,
And playing sweet n’ sour,
And the honking game,
People are nicer there then they are here,
In New York,
But we get home,
And have some meatballs for dinner,
And ice cream in cones for dessert,
And we grab our flip-flops,
To walk to the beach,
And we leave them by the road,
And wade up to our knees in the water,
And sit on the lifeguard chairs,
And get yelled at for lighting sparklers in a state park,
And laugh as if we were six and just heard a knock-knock joke,
So we walk home, covered in sand,
And we are only allowed to go in,
After we have rinsed off our feet,
And we put on our PJ’s.
Then we watch TV until eleven,
And then my brother calls Domino’s,
At midnight,
To order a bacon pizza,
Which he pays for across the street at the park,
Because we’ll get in huge trouble if our parents,
Knew we were having midnight dominoes.
The End.