Another afternoon. The mail, a pile of credit card offers I rip in two and dump in the bin. As a child, I stood at the edge of Lake Michigan and imagined a future as wide as those shores. Now, I drive my old station wagon across town to my best friend’s house where there […]
Keetje Kuipers
Keetje Kuipers: Speaking as the Mail Poet
I would like to write the fistfight poem, which I have never had the pleasure of (I hit him once but he wouldn’t hit me back) or I might visit a prostitute (girl, woman, professional or not) and then confess to you my shame (oh, to be the doer of the deed!)— the death of […]