Ex nihilo or out of the blue
As at my desk that morning, abruptly conscious,
I signed a check for every debt due,
December breezed in, a guest
Eerie as Amelia Earhart or an angel;
And, unlike the postman, exactly on schedule.
Nothing, then, made sense.
Things, like letters, falling out of the sky,
Sleet and rain and snow and providence,
Like packages, spilling, untied,
Were part and parcel, in fact, of December's baggage.
I got, I think, the message,
And scribbled, to save my life, my signature;
So my gas stove and my floor lamp remained safe.
I couldn't, despite this, figure,
As all-overhead came down, beyond belief,
Icy and random through streets outside,
Correspondences. Could my house hide?
In principio, that is, for starters,
Shaken up by this visit or crash landing,
After handing my postman (late) the letters,
I brooded, unremembering,
Like waking straight from a blackout, minus a clue,
Or short an address like the Wandering Jew.
Jack Hayes
© 2010
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