I’m sorry but, I don’t have a return address. He just left it on my porch all shattered and I was just wondering if he could fix it.
Mr. Postman, I know who sent it. I need him fix it. It beats and rattles in my chest and I wonder around town hoping I might find someone to fix it.
I asked the clock maker and the tech guy, but this was out of their fields.
Mr. Postman, won’t you tell me where to send it. Is their a place where stick and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt.
Mr. Postman, I am sorry but I don’t have a return address. I don’t know how I would send it anyway, with it writhing in my chest all. Rejection pumps through like blood. I thought about packaging myself up and set myself on his porch but I thought that he might not like too much of me.
Mr.Postman, help me.