A Question For the Senders
The ones they don't want,
the ones no longer needed...
are stuffed by senders, inside pretty balloons.
Blown up, then sold at half price to the breeze.
Their paths zigzagging crazily.
Some are found impaled on fences.
Others are bound for the holy grate.
Some are never found.
Others float gently back onto the concrete lap of the sender.
Asking through rubber lips and broken teeth,
"Was it all just a lavender lesson or just a black accident"?
In silence the senders perch,
replace all eyes with the eulogy of blackbirds.
Preparing another balloon to send them off ...again.
I guess that is their answer.
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