The Letter is in the Wind
I
could dry up and blow away before
A
letter arrives
I
drag a lawn chair to a breadbox of a mailbox
The
kind 1950s teens used for bathing practice
I
sit, and imagine letters
Dear
Mike: My love is like a red, red rose.
Mike,
I miss you terribly I ache with it
I
would gladly read whatever missive lands here even
The
bad or sad news
Michael,
dear: F--- you and the horse you rode in on
Note:
my asthma acts up around livestock
Mike:
Grandma died today. She was surrounded by
Friends
and family and you
Were
not one of them
Mike:
Our dog Zeke got run over by the truck delivering
Your
Christmas package, the box containing the latest
Brautigan
book and a chew toy for foundling Zeke.
I
would read them all, even the letter that promised
A
scholarship in a far-off place and an ensign’s gold bar
A
job as reporter in a strange city that will have
Plenty
of stories and you will be lonely.
Dear
Sir: You too could be a winner!
As
I said, I will read them all perched along the
Lonely rural blacktop named Expectations Road.
2 comments:
Ok, now that is GOOD!
Thanks, Bob. I blame Covid for knocking me off of my blog. And I was finishing a novel, second in a trilogy. The first two are ready to be picked up and published but I may do that myself. I'll email you a sample.
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