I can't believe I have to tell you this again
groused the vendor in his sleep
how do I know where your package is
somewhere in the Andes I lost track
or maybe there's an ill wind at your back
or maybe your mailbox got invaded by red ants
and they ate the whole thing up
including the packing materials yum yum
your next to last pair of pants
and now they don't feel so good in the tum
from bright green bubble wrap (the ants)
or maybe the invite slipped through the cracks
since you're always the last to be asked to the
weddings and funerals and that only after its
all been done and dusted.
or maybe you'll just grow encrusted
you old barnacle
turned stoical through your
long in the tooth winters
without that Christmas overcoat showing up
or sup your sup without
that gold limned dinnerware
what can I say
who never handled it with care or any day
it went out the dock door oh don't implore me
or maybe I just don't like you
said the slime affixing no label at all or
I held it back at the last minute hehe
or maybe I stashed it in the bracken
or tossed it into the summer sea
where the dolphins made merry with it.
don't keep asking me please
ask National Geographic
or maybe the mailman was sick
or maybe I'm the White Rabbit
tick tick tick and
it's all too late in that case
you won't be needing your package
anyway now, will you?
mary angela douglas 4 june 2015
Note on poem: This poem is not really about package delivery. We have wonderful mail service where I live. It is about the feeling of sometimes never getting a direct, simple answer to a direct simple question, that feeling, and in the form of a dream-nightmare of the overworked person who truly is not able to answer the customer's question for reasons beyond his or her control, and in a wider sense that feeling we all have, even those who believe in God that no matter how we ask the question, sometimes there is just no answer (at least in this life) and the theories and explanations don't make emotional sense to us which is the sense that is most important, after all. Or in simpler terms, what it feels like when people don't even understand your question in the first place. I wrote this poem to get rid of this feeling which I hate to feel, don't you?
groused the vendor in his sleep
how do I know where your package is
somewhere in the Andes I lost track
or maybe there's an ill wind at your back
or maybe your mailbox got invaded by red ants
and they ate the whole thing up
including the packing materials yum yum
your next to last pair of pants
and now they don't feel so good in the tum
from bright green bubble wrap (the ants)
or maybe the invite slipped through the cracks
since you're always the last to be asked to the
weddings and funerals and that only after its
all been done and dusted.
or maybe you'll just grow encrusted
you old barnacle
turned stoical through your
long in the tooth winters
without that Christmas overcoat showing up
or sup your sup without
that gold limned dinnerware
what can I say
who never handled it with care or any day
it went out the dock door oh don't implore me
or maybe I just don't like you
said the slime affixing no label at all or
I held it back at the last minute hehe
or maybe I stashed it in the bracken
or tossed it into the summer sea
where the dolphins made merry with it.
don't keep asking me please
ask National Geographic
or maybe the mailman was sick
or maybe I'm the White Rabbit
tick tick tick and
it's all too late in that case
you won't be needing your package
anyway now, will you?
mary angela douglas 4 june 2015
Note on poem: This poem is not really about package delivery. We have wonderful mail service where I live. It is about the feeling of sometimes never getting a direct, simple answer to a direct simple question, that feeling, and in the form of a dream-nightmare of the overworked person who truly is not able to answer the customer's question for reasons beyond his or her control, and in a wider sense that feeling we all have, even those who believe in God that no matter how we ask the question, sometimes there is just no answer (at least in this life) and the theories and explanations don't make emotional sense to us which is the sense that is most important, after all. Or in simpler terms, what it feels like when people don't even understand your question in the first place. I wrote this poem to get rid of this feeling which I hate to feel, don't you?
