for Erin Martin
I am a handsome and lonely man.
I like to write these letters to the housewives:
Dear Betty, I am a handsome
and lonely man. I appreciate
your zinnias and Buick. RSVP.
I seal them in envelopes made from top-secret
blueprints. Then they get intercepted
by my ex-girlfriends in the postal service.
Dear Erin, I have sabotaged the factories of sleep.
I drive around and around the abandoned worksite,
taking photographs. Smug workers, sealed
in their plexiglass pods. I cry out to them: Vive
la television! Abajo las manzanitas!
Will you write to me? I confess to the housewives
everything, everything. I could curl your hair
around my wrist like a shackle. I could draw
our path on every map in the atlas. Look: we are crossing
the Atlas mountains. It is like The Sound of Music
without the element of escape. I am singing you a song
that I wrote for the people of my country
about their beautiful, beautiful smiles.
When we get to the other side, there will be
a house with steaming coffee and pancakes.
I will stitch this letter into my arm.