FINDING THE MAILMAN
It was difficult
fashioning a post card
for my cousin Kenny
Weinstein, once a pilot
at the Willow Grove
Navy Yard.
Bits of paper and cardboard
were strewn across the floor.
The mailman had left
but I got in my car
and the search was on.
In a senior moment,
I thought his name
was Damien, like Damien
the Leper, we all read
in Seventh Grade.
Disaster books were all
the rage. Have you read
"Death be Not Proud" by
journalist John Gunther?
His son died of a brain
tumor at 17. He was
brilliant, making a
keen scientific discovery.
Took me five minutes to find
the mailman. You slow down
and look for a moving object
the way a frog does in the water.
There he was. He has no idea
how happy I am to see him.
I sat in my car, window
wide open, and when he
came down the hill, I
handed it to him,
showing it off.
A photo of an airplane
in the sunset was on
the front cover. Staples
and Scotch tape secured
everything together.
I can still feel the
pressure of the stapler
as I squeezed as
hard as I could.
***
Finally finished my cooking and sweeping and washing kitchen floor audio book LIVE TO TELL.The ending was terrific, but it was long and drawn out until we got there.
Can't wait to load anudder one when I make dinner.
***
Last night after reading Paris Review about the short stories of Lydia Davis, I had an idea for one.
Lydia often doesn't name her characters. I did the same in my new story BROKEN BONES, which I wrote quickly for Bella Online. Today is the last day to submit. Was thinking of writing anudder play. We'll see.
While I was writing that story I was afraid I'd go low so I stuffed myself with pretzels. O-rings.
***
Upstairs I go now to read for 10 minutes on my stationery bike.
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