The John H. Bennett, Jr. Prize
James J. Lundy, Jr.
So, the real estate market is hot in the Lowcountry and
you decide to move there and
the realtor explains that if you build on the marsh
you can be assured that nothing will ever be
built in front of you, like a high-stakes
game of placing fist over fist on a bat handle.
But don't misunderstand, it's about the view, too:
marsh grass is like an impressionist painting,
a green blur,
and the water beyond is the murky promise of freedom;
a thousand kayak trips or power-boat excursions
where, tipsy, the wives decide to go topless.
But like a painting, the view blends
with the decor and goes away,
you realize you've never assembled your kayak kit,
it's hot on the deck where your
New York Times is limp with humidity,
and the mosquitoes are terrible.