my phone goes off:
it rings Weezer's "Beverly Hills,"
which surprises the old ladies,
who are already clutching their handbags
a little closer, as they
eye me
with suspicion;

it is you on the phone,
and you have received
what I sent you
in that plain manila envelope
with no return address;

and the joy in your voice,
as you gush into my ear,
and rush up to me
with a big abrazo,
also shows me
that bounce in your step,
and that silly, wide grin
that you wear the rest of the day:

mission accomplished, lollipops.

March 5, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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