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 her 

making 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