my mailman.
always with a smile,
a tip of his hat,
burly with a white beard,
the sack
upon his bent
back,
then he left, or died, or
quit.
he gave no notice, for
what notice
would there be to give.
just one more
round
of envelopes through
the door
and then gone.
the next man or woman up,
as the beat
goes on.
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