with his
cold bottles of milk
and cream.
his dozen eggs,
his meats,
his bread.
all placed into your
metal porch box,
the rattle
of glass,
early in the morning
with his truck
idling,
him in his hat and white
suit.
white as milk itself.
up before
sunrise.
his wife still asleep at
home.
him rushing, anxious
to get back.
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