under the sea

From inside my apartment I can hear the cars and trucks driving on the BQE. Sometimes I can imagine that the gentle, but consistent whoosh is the sound of ocean waves coming ashore. When I try to sleep at night, the sound creeps in through a small crevice above the window...where the sash doesn't meet the frame. The sound washes over me as I try to muffle it out with talk radio. The jabber of late night news in an exaggerated monotone, crackling on top of the sea.

Sometimes I can hear children shouting in the courtyard behind my kitchen and I wonder if they are swimming in the water...isn't it late? Are they dreaming or playing? Shouldn't they be curled up in pajamas, teeth brushed, eyes closed?

The backyard garden, in the courtyard, is full of drifting leaves and vines, swaying in the wind like sea anemones, seaweed. Some yards and patios have little rusty grills or white plastic chairs like relics at the bottom of the ocean. If you close your eyes and listen you can hear groups of men bursting out together, cheering, booing. Pirates?