I don’t have one of those mailboxes shaped
like a manatee or a dinosaur
or one with roses painted on it
or the family crest or stars.
It’s plain because it’s just a practical thing.
Whatever mail may come,
I’m not hungry for it.
If nothing comes for me,
it’s just as well.
Some days I get bunches of fan mail
and it’s nice and I read it and smile for a while
and wonder how superstars
ever go so wrong.
All the fan mail goes in the recycling bin
whether for a singer or an author, you know-
I’m sorry to be the one to tell you that.
But the things which make it to the shelf,
the squiggly hand-written notes
which make it as bookmarks,
get stuck under pillows
and pasted in scrapbooks-
the ones that are placed in your hand-
are the ones that never touched
I think that’s why the superstars