NOT WHAT YOU THINK by Thomas Lipschultz 4/29/98

An empty mailbox
Like a void to her
She opens the lid
And her face drops
And she realizes
That he did not write
And once more closes
The mailbox lid
The next day and next
She checks every dawn
Before the town wakes
But I see her
I hear her utter
That her son should write
After seven years
Of postal void
And so I pity
And write a letter
To her unaddresed
Claiming his name
Two days go by fast
She opens the lid
She sees a letter
And she reads it
And I hear the scream
Of a heart attack
As she falls down fast
And now is dead
I call nine one one
And tell them of all
And they say to me
We'll be right there
Perhaps I go soon
To a county jail
Or get a big fine
For what was done
But the cops are nice
And they come tell me
I am innocent
I did nothing
The letter she read
Was from Ed McMahon
She thought she won cash
But she did not
Her heart gave way fast
To the mock pleasure
Of being quite rich.

Curse Ed McMahon!

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