taking lunch

the mailman looks sad,
but he always does just a little
in his soggy grey
uniform,
no hat, the heavy satchel
bending his shoulders,
curving his back.
I see him eating a bowl
of rice and chicken in his squared
truck
parked sideways
in a handicap spot.
he waves, and nods.
wipes his mouth with his sleeve.
he holds up his white
bowl, then looks
into it as you walk away.
your row of houses is next.
but first lunch.