Elfie, Mr. Tweedy And The Missing Insurance Claim Check

  Elfie, Mr. Tweedy, and the Missing Insurance Claim Check

 

She is world renowned,

for her stained glass skiers in

Vail Village she cuts colored

pieces of glass places them carefully on

patterns of white Styrofoam

numbered in sequence, one

two, three in her shop she

fluxes between the cracks

before soldering with her hot iron

she reads novels in German

with and accent says,

“I still haven’t received my

insurance claim check for

Mr. Tweedy’s broken

World Alpine, 1989 piece.”

 

We had packed it and shipped it

ever so painstakingly in

bubble wrap, wrapped twice

after cutting foam panels for ends

and carefully placing it in cardboard,

suspended in foam peanuts

Taped in double boxes, prudently.

 

I should have known when

Mad Maxine the crazy U.P.S.

driver in her brown uniform

and red laced hiking boots

black smudged hands, from handling cartons

would come in to the pack-n-ship

telling dirty jokes,

“Do you know why Jewish women

have wrinkles around their eyes. It’s

from squinting at their husband’s

penis behind closed doors.”

Saying, “You want me to do what to it?”

 

She looks at the parcel with

the “This Side Up” and “Fragile”

stickers plastered all over it and

says, “Hey, what state is

the city of “Fragile” in anyway,

and did you know these

are supposed to be packaged

so that they can be

thrown at least ten feet.”