The Mailbox

This white-dust road is in for an evil storm today.
The wind seems up to something by the casual way
it whistles by. Here, sixteen miles from anywhere,
a weedy mailbox waits, mounted on an auger,
a spiral blade ripped from a combine harvester.
This hard twist of American DNA,
caduceus-like, has cured some beery boy’s addiction
to knocking down the mailbox in his black S10.
The flag is a red ear against the head’s bright white
and the door a hound dog’s tongue hung out.
The letters of a letter crawl to life and bite,
blackwidowing the hand that reaches in.

Next
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE

From Science to God

Mark Bauerlein

The latest installment of an ongoing interview series with contributing editor Mark Bauerlein. Spencer A. Klavan joins…

How Happiness Studies Lets Us Down

J. Budziszewski

Demand elicits supply. The demand I have in mind is the demand for happiness: Suicide rates are…

The OnlyFans Exploitation Trap

Mary Rose Somarriba

OnlyFans creators are competing to have sex with as many men as possible in the shortest amount…