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Thread: The Mailman

  1. #1
    Registered User miyako73's Avatar
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    May 2009

    The Mailman

    Right after I finished watching
    that dimly lighted foreign movie, a masterpiece
    shot somewhere on the Italian coast,
    I thought about you, your uniformed muscles,
    and how you cheerfully delivered
    the annoying letter from State Farm
    and the thank you card from my retiring dentist
    who pulled all my wisdom teeth
    and made me dream of hard-ons and unicorns;
    the grocery discount flyers from Ralphs
    I could use for some mid-priced wine,
    perhaps a bottle of Pinot Grigio
    or autumn oak Cabernet from Botticelli's Tuscany,
    nutty cheeses such as fontina
    and the softest of mozzarellas that would melt
    easily inside the toaster oven
    when I would heat up spiced focaccia
    or crisp bite-size piadini in virgin olive oil
    delicious with halved cherry tomatoes,
    prosciutto di Parma sliced thin without tearing,
    and leaves of basil from Liguria;
    and the stack of coupons for produce
    promising huge strawberries from Chile
    and sun-ripened peaches and mahogany plums
    always in season and on sale
    like lunatic dictators and their hungry enablers.

    I wondered if you would listen
    to my breaths telling you about the hidden tales
    in stamped postcards, photographs,
    and expired calendars displaying Venice,
    its old palazzos, their facades like festival masks,
    and gray dove-covered piazzas;
    maybe if I would share in between stalled sighs
    what I knew of lustful Boccaccio
    and the vintage erotic stories of morose Moravia
    and read the romantic odes
    or the numbered canto of Neruda
    exposing the sea smothering the stolid rocks;
    if I would ask you to open the bottle
    using your mouth so I could see
    the sculpted square of your jaws,
    hold the stone fruits so they would slowly wilt
    before we would chew them
    and blood red-stain our buttoned shirts,
    and smell the aroma of meats and searing
    or finger-count the soaring fermented bubbles
    in place of inaudible sweet nothings;
    and if I would plead with you
    to watch my flexile ping-pong play until the finale,
    swallowing and gagging out the ball
    to roll in slomo on my naked loin,
    my last performance before the long resistance.
    Last edited by miyako73; 10-25-2020 at 09:13 PM.
    "You laugh at me because I'm different, I laugh at you because you're all the same."

    --Jonathan Davis

  2. #2
    A User, but Registered! tonywalt's Avatar
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    Mar 2011
    Cayman Palms, Cayman Islands, Cayman Islands
    Blog Entries
    Love this one

  3. #3
    Join Date
    Jun 2009
    Vietnam, Singapore, Japan, The Middle East, UK, The Philippines & Papua New Guinea.
    Blog Entries
    Excellent. Took me back to la Bella Italia and sweet memories.

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  1. The Mailman
    By miyako73 in forum Personal Poetry
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