Family Correspondence
By Xerxes Bumblesea
’Tis, me thinketh, not un-weird
that you’re typified, now, by
a Doritos-crumb-filled beard.
and I hope you know how I
think often of you, brother—
as does our father, of course,
and, of course, our dear mother.
I’d phone were I not so hoarse
(yes, my voice has gotten worse).
and all the letters I send
are returned to me. The curse
this life is! When will it end?
I know that you share my hope-
lessness—but I wish you’d shave.
Still, I’ve yet to put a rope
around my neck. My “man cave”
is a mess, but could be worse.
And although this life’s a curse,
Lord knows what might await us.
This world’s not meant to sate us
but to pique our hunger for
something that’ll mean much more.














