Personal High

I get a lift by finding a box.

One week ago to be exact
a box got lost in the mail.
Waiting desperately, I worry
yet worry is to no avail.

To the post office do I hurry
hieing up the concrete ramp.
Perspiration flowing freely,
I am stressed thin as a stamp.

I’m an engineer for NASA
waiting for some parts these days.
The box that I am waiting for
was mailed by aliens called Grays.

Oh, the future do I see,
so lucky for this chance to serve.
The box, so lost, I wait for thee
though I am one long, drawn out nerve.

I now perceive the need to wait—
Post-Office personal were nice.
An all-points bulletin for box—
I shake with worry more than twice.

The contents of the box I know;
it’s alien technology.
Though I am fraught, I keep the faith
to work with anti-gravity.

I drive with haste back to my house,
a cardboard box do I espy.
Relaxing like cooked linguini,
my spirits lifted pretty high.


28 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
9-15-17