Dear leftover half of my burrito,
Today, you were in my thoughts. You were my ace in the hole. I had you in mind the whole time I was out and about, mailing off a packet of poems, paying my library fines, working out. And when I came home, sweaty from all of the above, you were just as good as I hoped you would be.
And thank you for being a whole burrito before you were a half--that way, there was enough of you to give joy two days in a row. However. I now have to point out that even though you were the best, now you're gone, which quite honestly makes me resent you. I'd prefer it if there were always, or nearly always, half a leftover burrito, waiting for me in the fridge.
Please organize your brethren, the legion leftover halves of burritos, and deploy a small squadron of yourselves to replenish my supply.
I said please, but I really mean just do it,
Dear two scarves that came in the mail yesterday,
I love you. I love you because you are summer scarves, and because one of you is yellow and the other is red. I love you because one of you is linen and one of you has perforations. I love you because you arrived in a tidy package, and just two days after I ordered you.
Scarf in the mail day is always a good day,
Dear packet of poems,
I hope that you are humming 'Up All Night to Get Lucky' whilst wending your way to the editors who will decide your fate. I don't know if you can hum, but I feel like you could hum, if only silently, to yourself.
Oh, just do it. I mean: please.