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.
Copyright © Sunlite Wanter | Year Posted 2020
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment