like snowflakes
or astronauts that bounce like rubber balls
on empty streets.
I watch the mailman
dressed in grey,
who matches the sky,
and hands bills
to John Q in a red tie.
he stuffs envelopes
into dark homes
like sour milk in a faulty refrigerator
that has forgotten how to keep
chop meat red.
Picket fences move
when the seasons change
through tall grass
that hides pesticides
that crawl like spiders.
Neighbors
play fetch with my dog that won't bark
but stares at the mailman
and drools liquid
grass.
Lambent-edged globes move around houses
while families
sip ice-tea
in clouds that look
like stuffed animals.
The man in grey moves
as he enters dead-ends without
an intention.
I wait for a letter
with my name
in the corner,
carried by the man
I'll never know.
No comments:
Post a Comment