She walked down the graveled path
And he followed in her footsteps
Looking at the stones, but not the sky

Down to the end where the mailbox
Lay shattered on the ground
And its envelopes stained with
Mud and rain so that many
Were unreadable

He swiped some across his dungarees
And said, it’s only bills, so what’s the problem
While she, who would not look him in the eye
Bent to the task of seeking one
Which in pristine white
And etched in a lover’s calligraphy
Was no summons to pay a dime

Perhaps this one, slimed with mud
And illegible, was the hoped for one
She pressed it to her skirt and hid it
In her apron. Praying that within
The contents had not been maimed.

And later, while she cursed
The nameless vandals with their baseball bats
And wondered after children who have no souls
She opened the letter in the bathroom
And began to cry
“Dear Mrs. Cathright,” it began
“This letter is to inform you that your
Benefits are about to expire…”

And as she raged in silence
And her tears fell hotly
His voice rattled china
In the closet in the hall
“Harriet,” he cried. “Harriet!”
What in God’s name is this?”

12/03/2009

Posted on 12/03/2009
Copyright © 2024 Ken Harnisch