mr. goldthwaite

Dear Mr. Goldthwaite

this is a letter

wrapped in duct tape

and soundproof dog drool

i hope your daughter is feeling better

i hope your mood swing is not broken

i know your garbage 

has fought with crows

and your medication in the cabinet marked do not spill

was what you needed to not get upset

it's quite ironic

and we're quite sorry

Mr. Goldthwaite

that Mrs. Goldthwaite

couldn't make your teeth white

or fix your elbows

and your arm is now in a cast

we took your bus change

and left open the birdcage

and dropped icecubes in your soup from up on the rooftop

but just remember

that we love you

we're only evil when we're bored

of the vacuum in the garage

and the super duty ride-a-long

washing machine

and Mrs. Hammond's 

singing piano

we taught ourselves how to please elves in foreign language

with the power of imagination

but we're sorry

we used your shoehorn as a pickaxe

and your crumbly ceiling

as our cavewall