Friday, April 24, 2020
Junk Mail. By Cord Moreski
Even now you tell me
that whenever you see it all
scrunched inside your mailbox—
the glossy advertisements
for credit cards and personal loans
or coupons for fast food chains
and life insurance policies—
it gives you this strange sigh of relief
as if you were nine years old again.
That year you held your breath
whenever the postman arrived.
Your father always passed out
on the couch from working
the graveyard shift at QuickChek
while your mother fanned out
the envelopes like a poker hand
to see if it was pork and beans
or leftover spaghetti
for the fourth night in a row,
or if the batch of cookies baking
in the oven was for you
or for the lender as a sign of mercy
before they eventually took your house.
It all taught you the difference
between the victory of a battle
and the victory of a war
before any history textbook
or grandfather with a purple heart could.
And on those days of just “junk”
you’d watch from the kitchen
as your mother toasted with a sigh
while you tended the oven for hermaking sure the cookies didn’t burn.
Cord Moreski is a poet from New Jersey. His work has been featured in As It Ought To Be Magazine, Alien Buddha Press, Silver Birch Press, Eunoia Review, The Rusty Truck Press, and several other publications. He is currently working on a new project for late 2020. You can follow Cord here: https://www.cordmoreski.com
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