the mail must go through

i've lowered my

expectations

with the mailman.

his leather

sack thrown

over his bent shoulder.

his grey

uniform, loose

and frayed.

he's wearing his pith

helmet in the rain,

but

there's no mail i'm

anxious to receive.

no check, no prize

money, no love

letter from overseas.

it's bills and ads.

junk that i won't even

take the time to read.