It doesn’t matter what color

you are
I like you.
Over and over again

when I near you
in muffled voices

I hear them speak
trapped in their paper

envelopes.
I like you.
Every afternoon,

when the bell has
finally killed off the ugly

work hours
and one after the other,

the streets are swallowed

up,
I’ll open you,

lift your rust-freckled
lid:
mailbox, my mailbox

oh, what have you got
today for me?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_______________

Photo: Jean-Michel HATTON