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To Whoever Corrects Current and Previous Addresses (true prose poem)

March 16, 2014 by Eric Conley 2 Comments

Photo by Cynthia Fawcett

Photo by Cynthia Fawcett

To whoever corrects current and previous employees’ mailing addresses,

I have written to you in order to acquire the W2 and all other documents necessary to file my state and federal tax return for the hours spent working at the PHIL0191 FedEx Ground Terminal circa de 2012. Enclosed will be 2 addresses where I have been successfully receiving post. Because today is the 7th day in the 2nd month of the 2013 calendar year, I have become accustomed to opening my wife’s PO box in hopes of seeing an envelope ornamented with purple and green containing my W2. But alas, my daily sojourns to the Post office are to no avail.

In the beginning of January, in an effort to notify Human Resources of my most recent address change before the time when employers send out tax information*, I called the Phone number which was supplied to me via text message by Ken K’nish** (an employee at the time of my digital inquiry and–to the best of my knowledge–an employee currently working for you as you read this letter). Soon after, I called the phone number which Ken K’nish replied with and spoke to the HR representative who introduced herself as ‘Selena’***. I told Selena of my correct mailing address and then made myself a sandwich.

A few days passed and I received an “Employee Address Change and Emergency Contact Request Form” which was promptly**** filled out then faxed to: (412)262-6668. As someone new receives their W2 every day in the small town of Manzanita, I wonder more and more if mine was sent to my old apartment in Philadelphia. This is a problem I would usually call to solve, but, to my great (un?)fortune, I have lost my phone–and furthermore–lost the phone number saved under “fedex phila”.

I have been cursed with a curse! You see, I found the rotten corpse of a horse that presumably floated across the Pacific Ocean from Japan on the beach a few days ago. I took a picture of it’s decomposing skin and pulled 2 teeth from its decrepit mouth (which required much effort to sever the fibrous flesh rooting the teeth to mandible; I had to use a sharp drift-wood-stick to cut the sinewy strands). I have not seen my phone since the picture was taken and have reason to believe the listless spirit of the dead rotten japanese horse mischievously removed the phone from my pocket and dropped into the ocean while I obliviously gathered sand dollars***** not far from the site of the carcass. After a brief and reluctant search, I realized my phone was nowhere to be found–the putrid japanese horse did not correlate with my loss whatsoever. But rather, it was later that night, when I was making myself a sandwich and I dropped a pepper shaker onto a plate where the fixings were, which was foolishly placed half on the edge of the counter/half off of the edge of the counter. What was to become a tomato and cucumber sandwich regrettably flopped onto the floor. At that moment I realized I was hexed by something very real, and very serious.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

*based on prediction

**name changed to protect the innocent

***Name not changed to incriminate the guilty

****based on perspective

*****46 in total!

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Since then, the Curse of the Dead Japanese Horse has afforded me much strife, and the following blunders have befallen me:

() While simultaneously sitting on it, I quickly grabbed the EBT 6 month renewal form, ripping it in half;

() I woke up late last night, groggily, to urinate, and it was raining;

() This morning, I had to urgently use the bathroom while my wife was taking a shower;

() My shoes smell terribly foul (an olfactory reminder of decaying horse flesh);

() Grime has tarnished a few of my pennies;

() I left my ID back home, causing anxiety about being carded for a beer I loosely planned to purchase while in town;

() The two milk crates I stacked as a chair to my makeshift desk came un-stacked and I fell while sitting back down to type more (this just happened);

() I spilt the anxiety-ridden beer when I fell.

Certainly you can understand the severity of my situation. I write to you to hopefully correct the course of my anticipated W2 and not let it’s misdelivery be added to the above mentioned list. In order to avoid further folly, I will forward this letter to the number I faxed the address change form to, and mail it to 14300 Townsend (USPS), and email it to Package Handler Bory Chhor with instructions to send it up the hieracrchy, and keep a copy in my personal filing system.

I hope this letter finds you well.

Superstitiously,

Eric Conley

 

Filed Under: Poetry, ULE Tagged With: Curse, FedEx, Human Resources

About Eric Conley

Eric Conley...

Thinks if there truly is a war between the feral cat lovers and the wild bird enthusiasts that everyone should remember that kittens are cute and college kids can sometimes be impulsive.

Is 26, has brown hair which blondes in the sunny sun.

Thinks every boy should be entitled to a free vasectomy at the hands of a competent surgeon*, no questions asked.

Is tattooed and will eat most anything off the floor (except mustard flavors, death flavors, grapefruit flavors).

Thinks roadkill is an exciting opportunity.

Is in love, married, and has an unmoored skull filled with helium, perpetually floating into clouds.

Thinks that if all the insects decided to simultaneously seek vengeance for all their swatted squished poisone flattened burnt slapped brethren the human race would finally be afforded a just reason to be scared of bugs.

Is small. Can squeeze through narrow spaces.

Thinks his Wife's dog Pony ought to start a band named Pony-San and the Mountain Boys and play hits such as "She gonna get mah dogs barking" and "That's that Chinese Pony" .

Has an uncannily good grip, for opening jars.

* recommends you save your money for the operation

Comments

  1. Watt Childress says

    March 17, 2014 at 7:10 am

    Eric, I love this! Hopefully it’s OK with you that I’ve parenthetically labeled it a “true prose poem.” This feels like a fertile writing form that I’d like to see more often, especially here at the Edge. It will be heart-warming if that happens, knowing other word-freaks share my proclivities.

    I’m wondering if the piece I recently posted (“Fast Food for Thought“) is also a true prose poem. After writing fairly linear newspaper columns for many years, I find my work is becoming more spiraled. Do I lose readership as a result? What blend of craft makes this writing form accessible?

    You help answer these questions by sharing your work, leading by example. Thank you!

    Reply
  2. Vera Haddan says

    March 20, 2014 at 2:06 am

    I’m sympathetic regarding your curse, really, but I got the giggles, uncontrollably so, starting at the end of your second paragraph when you made yourself a sandwich — let your guard down (in an all downhill sort of way). I wish you well, I do. “To Whoever Corrects Current and Previous Addresses (true prose poem)” is brilliant.

    Reply

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