The Mailman

He drops them in our box
Rings the bell and goes.
We run out to get them
And see how far he’s gone,
Yell our thank yous,
And he waves a hand.

He in his faded uniform
His seesaw-like frame
One shoulder stays down
Dragged by one strap
That pulls the black bag
That carries hundreds of them
Them letters and cards
That we open with anticipation.

At Christmastime, we wait for him
Hand him some cash
Wish him a merry Christmas.
Decades quickly pass
A new mailman comes one day
Our hearts sink like we’ve lost a friend.

Soon he comes calling,
Trekking the same streets,
Recognizable in his seesaw-like frame
Although no longer in his work uniform.
He trudges in the same worn-out shoes,
Smiles and waves like before,
Chats with the elders about retirement
Until he comes no more.

One day our uniforms won’t fade any further
Nor our worn-out shoes take us any farther
Like a curtain call our career’s over
But we have memories that’ll linger.
MLJ/27/07/2024