A letter. People wait for them in the mail, in email, in Forever Never Land where letters mean nothing but babble fish words and snap crackle pop. Some people wait for letters to tell them that lovers miss them dearly. Others - to spell death certificates to stop the suffering of an invalid. Some people wait for letters that the tax man is coming, breaking up a happy business.
The other day I wait for a letter to tell me I was special, to tell me someone out in the wide wild world was actually thinking of me. It never came.
B. It’s a bumpy letter with humps and curves. It’s the boob of the alphabet. Not the geek but the breast. See, B. Two knockers stuck up on a spinal rack.
I like B. It reminds me of me. Not a stick thin waif like I! No! I has no spunk. No curve no umph! It stands there like a gash in the mist of flowing letters. But B is perfectly lovely!
B. Yes! Now she stands there round and full. Even in her little form, b, has bounce and booty! Junk in her trunk and stuff above the muff!
B is bright, bodacious, booty-licious, brave, brazen, beautific.
B is my favorite letter of the alphabet!
For haiku Fridays these were my three this week.
Weeping willows tears
Dim marshes sultry essence
a southern deathbed
Blue crisp snow crunches
crystal cicles sparkle white
bleeding polar bears
Not half full round moon
raging werewolves rampant
ferial dreamings eat