No Mail

No mail again.

Just a letter from my Senator.

Just a check from the Army.

No mail.

Nothing from her.

I guess she doesn't like my poetry.

I try to say what I feel:

(The land is surrounded by dikes;

tracing, but not describing, the sea).

I doubt that I could write her way:

(Her flowing descriptive prose

shows her mind's organization.)

So I won't try.

I like a lot of people

and they like me.

If that depended upon poetry . . .

Well, they like different things.

So I wait,

Until tomorrow . . .