Chasing the mosquito man

For all the DDT -- Drop Dead Twice -- sprayed

on hot summer evenings, the killer fog never seemed

to eradicate mosquitoes (or lightning bugs). One always managed

to squirm through a tiny hole in the metal screen

and spend most of the night buzzing your ear.

I saw the greatest minds of my dead end street running into the blue mist of the sweet-smelling cloud behind the Essex County Mosquito Man's Jeep.

Summer in the 1960s, and the living was good.

Sticky fly paper hung over the Maytag wringer washing machine next to the kitchen sink. Melmac cups were neatly stored on the yellow contact paper on the shelves behind the glass doors. Sometimes, you'd bug Ma while she was cooking and get to eat a raw hot dog. It was just like rolled baloney from Prosperi's around the corner store.

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