carrying the mail bag, out of
uniform,
mind you,
where Fred is.
the old mail man.
he's been delivering the mail
here for
twenty years, i tell her.
is he sick, retired,
what gives?
he's been gone
since February, she says.
i'm in training
now to take
his place.
she hands me a stack
of mail
and smiles, but i yell after
her when
she crosses the
street.
this mail isn't addressed
to me.
wrong address, wrong city,
wrong state.
oh well, she says. we all
make
mistakes.
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