Post Cards
Maybe if we had written poetry
instead of the usual Having
a great time! Wish you were here!
we could have rescued the pleasure
of sending post cards, with their
maps and landscapes and slice-
of-life photography. Now it's all
low-brow humor, beer and busty
women. Something to be hung up,
where?, in a garage or bar? In
a fraternity house, I suppose, but
in college, I remember collecting
post cards, filling whole cork
boards and walls with Monet's
Waterlilies and Millais' Ophelia,
Count Basie in mid-performance,
a cow alone in an autumn field,
Bob Dylan, Han Solo, a black
and white still life of a microphone.
Rectangles to contemplate at odd
angles, a canvas, when flipped,
for a few lines- a haiku or rhymed
couplet, and who can say how
things might have been different,
had they been addressed and
dropped in the outgoing mail?
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