Six Postwoman Poems

Today the post

woman brought

me a trans-

Atlantic passenger

liner. I tried to

sail it in the lagoon

at the bottom of the

street but when I got

it in there it wouldn’t

budge, something to

do with Newton’s

unpublished fourth

law of motion which,

in précis, posits big

fish / big pool. I’ve

decided to leave the

liner where it is,

open it up as

an hotel. The

pelicans are pissed.

*

Today the post-

woman brought

me a conniption

fit. So-called be-

cause it makes  

you angry when you  

put the jacket on 

& it’s too tight 

across the shoulders.

*

Today the post-

woman brought

me a pasta

maker. My 

heart gave out — 

I’d asked for

a pacemaker.

*

Today the post-

woman brought

me a brochure

from EARWAX—

extinct animal 

resurrection with 

academic expertise—

suggesting that if 

I donated both

money & a sample 

of my DNA they 

might be able 

to bring back 

the Amazonian 

smilodon. I de-

clined. Now if it 

had have been 

the mastodon. . .

*

Today the post-

woman brought

me the latest 

issue of Conspiracy 

Theory Quarterly 

in its plain alfoil 

wrapper. I waved 

to the spy satellite 

as I carried it in.

*

Today the post-

woman brought

me an invitation

to nominate 

my favorite 

Impressionist

painting. What to

pick? I’ve been

weighing up the

crows & ponds.