Letter #310 (v. 1)

Letter #310 (v. 1)

Bowls of fake fruit remind me of a letter
I once sent you in Uzbekistan.
Remember that letter? The zip code
so long it was a trail of black ants,
soldiers in salute to the many stamps?

The heat rose from the concrete outside
like churchgoers, and everyone was in lawn chairs,
shirtless, mowing, dashing in sprinklers,
sunglasses, sunscreen, thongs.

I told you I missed you, said I'd buy you
a new pair of shoes when you returned,
and I pictured you there with the Uzbekistanians.
There were flies stuck to your cheek,
a little monkey eating twigs from your hair
as if you were a fruit-tree in season.

So I planted one in my backyard, pears.
I put a little green fence around the bottom,
a plastic birdfeeder with seeds and stuff,
so when you never write back, when that day comes,
I can walk out the backdoor and pick your fruit,
and maybe then you'll like me, like you did that monkey.