where is he

the mail
hasn't been arrived
in days.
I go to the window
and look
out for the white
truck
with red
and blue trimming.
nothing.
I look down the sidewalk
for my mailman.
he's tall and lean,
Asian.
pleasant not so much
that he wants a new
friend.

he was a little careless
at times.
my mail going to someone else,
and other's mail
coming to me.
some bills were lost
during the years.
but that was rare, i doubt
i could do
any better.

I miss his quiet walk,
his gaze, his
slight smile, the tilt
of his pith helmet
on his head.
rain, sleet or snow,
he came with that brown
leather sack
weighing him down.
lightening it one envelope
at a time.