by Owen Carry

(as seen in Silver Operation Vol. 7)

Behind shades on porches into bungalows along the sea shore. Seven neighborhoods lined the south coast. Pouring a plastic juice handle into a glass. A tiled countertop. And the sun just rising over their hair.

They take a sip sitting on the carpet. No one sits on top the couches. Their bunnies jump around the floor in front of them. Towel to towel in the living room. Soft pink on light blue. And it’s breakfast time for the three of them.

They eat salad in front of the TV. Salad for breakfast. Criss-cross. Like a bowl of cereal. Their beds are on the other side of the bungalow. The bunnies share a cage there. It’s open in the morning wind. A drippy water bottle stuck through its metal. It’s almost winter here and it’s windy.

Flags in front yards flap at different speeds. Metal poles poked into front-yard sand. Jeep tracks run the length of the main beach here. They don’t own a Jeep. Someone could take their sandals off but they’d be cold. A tunnel through hair. Gloves are needed on the beach right now. Little soccer ones. The headwinds make you feel as if you’re walking on a leash.

With the bunnies on the porch right now. They’re underneath them. Their toes are hanging off the hammock. The bunnies are eating carrots. Swaying above them. Another layer is needed like a sweater.

The screen is moving with the wind. They’re swaying over knitted oval carpets. They could be reading but they’re not. They’re just staring at the peeling paint. The bunnies stay inside the porch. Playing. Sipping tea.

Now they’re on the hammock with them. Sitting in their lap. Thinking about those last warm days of summer. In a beach town. Like today. They look out over the houses between them and the beach. It’s closed on a Sunday. They’ve always lived here.

Ropes are stretched out around the beach. Preventing anyone from getting in. They’re not doing a good job though. No one wants to be out there anyway. They flap in the wind like the flags do. The early morning. When someone comes to put the ropes up they’re not often seen.

On a Sunday. They bring the bunnies to the water in a tote bag. One for each of them. Like today. Sunday is when the beach is empty. Like footballs in their armpits. The bunnies hide under the purple of their sweatshirt.

From the parking lot. There’s only one other person on the beach today. They’re flying a kite in the headwind. They’re sitting on a blanket that’s also flapping. Holding it down with their butt. Like a magic carpet.

The bunny’s ears stay close to it. Aerodynamic in the wind. Their heads stick out each tote bag and a PB&J is being eaten above them. Crumbs fall down inside the bags. So when they get to the beach they’re too busy nibbling to scurry out. They’re on the beach with no towel. Lumps inside loose tote bags on the sand.

As they come out of their bags they are solid and sturdy on the sand. They hop around. Barely moving. Like bunnies do. Advancing all at once. For no reason. And then they stop. Keep on going.

They’re looking around when they stop. Like bunnies do. Looking for eagles in the sky. There are just clouds though. They’re sitting behind them. Looking at how long their fingernails have gotten.

They’re watching them play. In their boxer shorts. They kick up sand with their little feet when they move. No one’s texting. No one’s saying anything. The sky is grey and the water’s almost. It’s that color it gets when the sky is grey.

If they stayed there long enough they might understand how each wave rolls in. How each one starts as two. Curls. At first they’re two curls curling in. To meet each other in the middle. Then they crash and another starts again.

The bunnies are still in the foreground. The brown one gets an idea to hop over the other. They laugh when it happens.

They lay back and watch the sky. Their baseball cap flops from all the pressure. It’s hard to believe summer was two months ago.