Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
la-jongleusePoems
when the mail came unmarked I said I don’t want it- return to sender! I do not want this **** again.junk mail is for the birds I read books & letters, I do not open up unknown packages for fear of ingesting anthrax like that American did a few years ago. but it showed up once more this time patiently waiting on my doorstep, **what admirable persistence** I thought to myself this must be a sign of something good inside (like the loving people that never give up on anyone else, ever) intrigued by the beautiful wrapping, I took it inside & let it sit on my table for a few weeks, half expecting something to happen, but it did not want to make itself at home amongst my masterpieces so I moved it about, looked for its place it did not fit. so I threw it on the shelf Surprised by its lack of weight. this **** thing must be empty ! why had I not wondered what was inside before? *(I’ll rip open that ************ & see what it’s made of)* but instead, into the fire I threw it & the ashes disappeared shortly afterwards the shelf remains empty my hands warm, the dust still unsettled but by what ?
0
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 5:26 AM UTC
return to sender
when the mail came unmarked I said I don’t want it- return to sender! I do not want this **** again.junk mail is for the birds I read books & letters, I do not open up unknown packages for fear of ingesting anthrax like that American did a few years ago. but it showed up once more this time patiently waiting on my doorstep, **what admirable persistence** I thought to myself this must be a sign of something good inside (like the loving people that never give up on anyone else, ever) intrigued by the beautiful wrapping, I took it inside & let it sit on my table for a few weeks, half expecting something to happen, but it did not want to make itself at home amongst my masterpieces so I moved it about, looked for its place it did not fit. so I threw it on the shelf Surprised by its lack of weight. this **** thing must be empty ! why had I not wondered what was inside before? *(I’ll rip open that ************ & see what it’s made of)* but instead, into the fire I threw it & the ashes disappeared shortly afterwards the shelf remains empty my hands warm, the dust still unsettled but by what ?
la-jongleuse
Written by
la-jongleuse
American
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 5:26 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem