He Wears a Blue Hot Uniform
On a hot spring afternoon, a wet postman
Hurries down the sidewalk home.
I catch him stepping on a new white iris,
And were I not alone, I would but
Scold him, but I would not, instead,
I wouldst hand him a cold coke for his dripping head,
Then pat him on his shoulder and pick up a dropped letter,
On this unseasonably hot afternoon.
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