The Postal Worker
The Postal Worker
The lady behind the counter,
she takes my packages,
and gives me, "looks"...
when I tell her I write books,
and request to send my items
media mail.
It is much cheaper by far,
to send my words to another place,
printed between covers,
I design.
It is a way of sending tangible expressions
to friends, family, and strangers...
soon to be friends, and claimed family
without going broke.
No joke.
I love to send just simple cards,
things that I create.
But sometimes it is my fate,
to write more things down,
like a clown...
in a rodeo at a show,
giving the cowboy time to get away...
free and clear from harm,
with charm.
My hair grows red,
as I am fed crackers,
by the parrot
that lives in the zoo
with a few...
wild peacocks
that make stew
for the rabbits to eat.
You see how my feet wander?
They go all over and back.
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
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
