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You Want To Be A Mailman
You want to a mailman?
It’s not what meets the eye.
I’ll tell you my experience in '64,
One day in the month of July.
I parked my truck along the curb,
In a project on Royal Avenue.
I was greeted by two tow-headed kids;
He was four... she was about two.
“Hi Mr. Mailman... see you got a box;
Can I carry it for you?”
“Well, Hi yourself... no thank you buddy;
It goes to address 422.”
“Hey! That’s where we live;
Can we go knock on the door?
Mom will be glad to get that,
She’s been waiting three weeks or more.”
“Sure, go ahead, knock on the door,
I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
With his runny-nose sister tightly in tow,
Down the toy-littered sidewalk they ran.
When I approached the right address;
Only a screen door blocked my view.
Outside the kids were knocking and yelling,
“Hurry Mom, he’s got a package for you.”
My jaw dropped... a foot or so;
My eyes bugged out of my head.
This young thing... in only a slip,
Made my feet turn suddenly to lead.
She was barely five foot tall,
But more than amply endowed.
To say she was only a forty-two,
Was being conservative, I allowed.
“Hello there,” she cooed to me,
In her syrupy, southern voice.
I searched for something intelligent to say;
What came out was an embarrassing choice.
“You got two cute knockers,” I blurted...
My tongue swelled up in my face;
I tried explaining about her kids;
The two running all over the place.
The more I said, the worse it got.
She smiled and offered iced tea.
“No thank you Ma’am, I got feet in mouth,
There’s no place for the glass, you see.”
Quickly I backed out of there,
After giving her the mail.
Had my brain shut down completely,
I might be serving time in jail.
So, you see my friend, there are pitfalls.
This job’s filled with stress and strife.
I suggest you find another occupation.
One not so hazardous to your life.
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