Beachcomber
I know something about godforsaken places.
Walking on the beach alone, far from the Dead Sea,
I thought I saw a horseshoe crab crawling slowly—
it was a Gideon Society, black Bible cover.
Another time, washed up on a river Nile,
I found a Chianti wine bottle
with a letter in it. I read to myself
a child’s handwriting: “Hello,
let’s make friends. Please call,” she gave her phone number.
I held the bottle a week before calling, then asked
for Diana John, in my best African accent,
I am Enok. I’m calling from SS north.
I’ll be your friend. She called her father
and mother to the phone. I gave a good performance.
That’s the way it is with you, dear reader.
2020-04-28 20:32:50
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