The Boys of the Green Mailbox

First there were the trite conversations.
Auditions for jobs and apartments. Forced pleasantry to whore myself into their world.
This job, that job, this apartment, that complex, “we can’t accept bull breeds”.
The objectifications soon made me nauseous.
I got dressed and left to see my love.
She’d understand and caress me. She always does and never disappoints.

Asks no questions. Passes no judgement.

But they were coming, no doubt they’d be here soon.
Starry eye’d and blurred minds of good will but no purpose.

fun fun fun

They’ll meet her, I’ll share.
But I know I must keep part of her to myself.
To give her to them freely would break me.
Unless you’ve bled for her, you’ll never really know her.
And only her lovers realize the truth in that.
Her tiny secrets are my saving grace. Her brown eyes are my blue skies. And her dreary stare is my welcome to her palace.

Since I was a boy, her temples amazed me. Tall, majestic green edifices that tied us all together and made us family.

Blood of my blood, from the hands of my Brothers and Sisters.

The temples are long gone, all but memory. Only the elders remember them.
Her children are oblivious.
But to some of us, those mailboxes will never fade.
And we speak of them as warriors do of battle sitting around a great fire.
Days where the grey gulls call against the wails of the cicadas into the dusk.
Their tune is our battle cry to revelry.
And when I see my brothers, we speak of new scars and old loves.
But there’s always one true love


She’s always in our hearts.
And while our teeth are buried in dirt and bones, our hearts are hers.
And though she never says it; we know she loves us as well.

Though we have no name, she knows us regardless. For we are the boys of the great green mailbox.

The Island

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