doin' it

The Fedex Man Discovers That Love Is Not Always Attractive

with a nod to T.R. Hummer

I'm running late. Holding this package, I walk down the drive,
Glad the Rottweiler next door's behind a fence. Oh Christ, there they are
On some ratty bedspread, asleep, buck-naked, amid beer cans,
These folks look like they've been here forever,
Eroded stone giants, covered with moss. His beard's
Long and scraggly and gray, and his paunch fits
Like a parody below her sagging tits. How could they?
They must have been married in the Stone Age, his club

Flattening her frizzy hair around her gaping face.
This is love? This sag of flesh on flesh,
Too much flesh and crooked teeth,
Hairy legs and beer-stink endearments? To hell with them.
I'll ring the doorbell, rouse the dog, make lots of noise.
They could use a wake-up call.

by Roberta Feins

in volume 5 issue 1

The Rural Carrier Discovers That Love Is Everywhere

reprinted with permission from the author

A registered letter for the Jensens. I walk down their drive
Through the gate of their thick-hedged yard, and by God there they are,
On a blanket in the grass, asleep, buck-naked, honeymooners
Not married a month. I smile, turn to leave,
But can't help looking back. Lord, they're a pretty sight,
Both of them, tangled up in each other, easy in their skin—
It's their own front yard, after all, perfectly closed in
By privet hedge and country. Maybe they were here all night.

I want to believe they'd do that, not thinking of me
Or anyone but themselves, alone in the world
Of the yard with its clipped grass and fresh-picked fruit trees.
Whatever this letter says can wait. To hell with the mail.
I slip through the gate, silent as I came, and leave them
Alone. There's no one they need to hear from.
 

by T.R. Hummer
in volume 5 issue 1

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