I wake up late, but still before lunch
the mailbox is empty
*******-
usually the postman comes around this time
and so I wait
I come back for lunch break
still empty
I don't know what hurts the most;
peeking through the slit
or opening it straight away
another day gone
another waiting
I need the mail, the cheap chinese crap
the midnight impulse buys
that colorful japanese cardboard crack
I am on my knees
and I **** the almighty god of consumerism
wishing that at least everyday
could be a little more like christmas
treating myself as if I was my woman
spoiling me further
than I would ever do any unborn child
the next day; something at last
this will do nicely along my collection
of nice to haves and just in cases
I don't want to look outside
and see tomorrow burning
the mailbox'll keep me busy
from unnecessary impossible
yearnings