Thursday, April 20, 2006
Draft for Rebecca Loudon
Okay, so this one uses a line Rebecca said I could have if I used a Simpsons line for my title--which I didn't quite do, but the key phrase of the title (plus another bit) is taken from the Simpsons. This is a theft-heavy poem--I've also stolen from a Compassion International letter-writer, Aaron Anstett's son, an old draft of mine, and this blog a few days ago. Yes, it is currently a prose poem. Lemme know...
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The poem/prose poem intrigued me, it pulled me toward saying it almost out loud. I started hearing possible line breaks. I've played with it here (and have also changed the words slightly in a couple of places). Highly presumptuous of me, I realize -- of course take this for whatever it's worth.
Not sure how the line breaks will turn out in the comment box (the comment box formatting might "add" additional breaks here and there), so (even though it will look a little odd) I've put an asterisk at the beginning of each line, to indicate the lines I've done. Any additional line breaks are accidental, done by the comment box formatting.
Here it is:
* I start my route at 2 a.m. on Thanksgiving.
* Owls deafen me with incessant hooting.
* The ground freezes into Arctic floes
* under my truck. Crystals block my bloodstream,
* airways, brainwaves. I take a hot chocolate break
* or create a postal holiday, Pre-Christmas-Season-Eve.
* When the letters that I save to God and Santa and the elves
* fall like leaves into the millionth shoebox-sized grave
* in the back yard, it's time to bake a cake
* for Baby Jesus crucified, the batter
* made of dying Easter eggs, my lips
* pressed and sealed by salmonella.
* The line of passport-photo faces, the disgruntled
* customers who wait to kneecap me
* with hockey sticks when I walk the Chihuahua,
* stretches long as winter
* past my always-knocked-down box.
* I thank the Postmaster General
* that I blew last years bonus on a Jacuzzi,
* not an Uzi, hazardous in its package
* and ready for mass media mail.
* When I call your number, please skate to the counter.
Not sure how the line breaks will turn out in the comment box (the comment box formatting might "add" additional breaks here and there), so (even though it will look a little odd) I've put an asterisk at the beginning of each line, to indicate the lines I've done. Any additional line breaks are accidental, done by the comment box formatting.
Here it is:
* I start my route at 2 a.m. on Thanksgiving.
* Owls deafen me with incessant hooting.
* The ground freezes into Arctic floes
* under my truck. Crystals block my bloodstream,
* airways, brainwaves. I take a hot chocolate break
* or create a postal holiday, Pre-Christmas-Season-Eve.
* When the letters that I save to God and Santa and the elves
* fall like leaves into the millionth shoebox-sized grave
* in the back yard, it's time to bake a cake
* for Baby Jesus crucified, the batter
* made of dying Easter eggs, my lips
* pressed and sealed by salmonella.
* The line of passport-photo faces, the disgruntled
* customers who wait to kneecap me
* with hockey sticks when I walk the Chihuahua,
* stretches long as winter
* past my always-knocked-down box.
* I thank the Postmaster General
* that I blew last years bonus on a Jacuzzi,
* not an Uzi, hazardous in its package
* and ready for mass media mail.
* When I call your number, please skate to the counter.
The feedback is always appreciated, Lyle. I'll take a look at your version tomorrow when I'm sober.
And I think "Manic Mailman on Ice" is a better title. Sigh...
And I think "Manic Mailman on Ice" is a better title. Sigh...
Absolutely delighted.
By the way, the midget sized grave has been filled back up. I'm planting bulbs in it this fall.
Rebecca
By the way, the midget sized grave has been filled back up. I'm planting bulbs in it this fall.
Rebecca
i likes. ya know, for some reason it reminded me of bishop's poem, man moth. maybe it's the m's in the title and surrealism.
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