Postcards

by Troy Schoultz

For David J. Thompson

Behind this windshield of salt, frost and grime
I pass buildings that rose before the dead
Were pulled from wombs, and slapped until they sucked air,
And they will block the afternoon sun
Long after I’m in some shitty urn.
February will ruin you
If you allow it. Living in a climate cold enough
To kill. Glacier freeways slick in the sun.
Sirens sound from Saturday to Sunday.
Everything screams before it moves.
Icicles grow long from the roof’s edge
Like wizard judgement,
But your postcards keep arriving
In colored ink, clip art, cryptic quotes
And amused despair
Writ large with anecdotes of experimental diets, exotic pets,
And a batshit crazy girlfriend
Who may or may not be fictional.
These weekly gifts keep me level.
I collect each one
In case you ever get famous,
Before or after you take up residence
In an urn of your own.

Troy Schoultz is a former lecturer at the UW-Oshkosh campuses, and author of three poetry collections. He also hosts Mr. Troy’s LoFi Motel Radio Hour on 101.9 Oshkosh FM. Currently Troy is director of the Literary Arts at Thelma (LAT) at the Thelma Sadoff Center for the Arts in Fond du Lac.