blue skies and pink slips

late afternoons
sitting at the desk
facing the side window in the sweaty efficiency
drinking mickey’s malt liquor
and banging on the smith corona
I hardly notice the oscillating fan impersonating
a little robot stuck on a floor board
can barely hear the radio putting out music
or airing another baseball game

outside
the neighbor’s black lab patrols the fence line
barking indiscriminately

blank pages
enter the rollers and withstand
a barrage of pelted bars
launched by levers by way of fast fingers
fanciful ribbons turning pure white sheets into
paperless dreams creasing and
folding and pretending to be airplanes

so many summers ago
I launched countless letters into the jetstream
some struggled to make it out alive
others fading with the setting sun
a few lucky ones breaking the outer atmosphere
only to crash and burn inside wire baskets