Letters to the Editor

Charles Jensen

Dear November,
            I am tired of your rain,
            your whining, your gray skies cadaverous and blank,
                        and more than all of this, I am tired of your melancholy
            so please keep your trouble in the box beside your bed
                        and if you need to vomit, use
                                    the enclosed sack; I’ve been told
                                                things could get a little bumpy.

Dear Gratitude,
            what did you
                        ever do for me?

Dear First Love,
            you observed my innocence
                        objectively, wrote your observations down
                                    and sent them to my parents
                                    I want my jacket back.

Dear America,
            put down the chocolates
                        and I swear no one will get hurt.

Dear Drivers of Suburban Maryland,
            my life is in your hands. My life in your hands
                        is an unpinned grenade.

Dear Regret,
            don’t lie and tell me you’ve quit
                        smoking when I can taste burnt paper
                                    in the back of your throat.

Dear Composition Students,
            this will be factored into your final grade
                        and recorded in big Gothic letters upon
                                    your tombstone
                        and possibly as
                                    a tattoo you cannot wash off.

Dear Melancholy,
            November called.

Dear Inability to Pull Myself Out of Bed on Monday Mornings,
            November called and said
                        it’s urgent.

Dear Mom and Dad,
            I know you did everything you could think of
                        but you should have
                                    thought a little harder.

Dear Subtraction,
            why are you so
                        negative all the time?

Dear Long Division,
            you’ve left me
                        in pieces
                                    yet again.

Dear Dusk, Twilight, Evening, and Night,
            whoever fills the lantern of sleep with all the black ink,
                        please be advised
                                    you’re doing it wrong.

Dear Intelligent Life from Other Planets,
            you have been so wise
                        to stay away.

Dear Vodka Martini,
            I am here for you.
                        Please call.

Dear Morning,
            would it kill you to be
                        late once in a while?

Dear Universe,
            this is your last