Some letterboxes smile eagerly, waiting to eat the mail.
Others hang their with slack mouths, toothless smiles,
gormless slackjawed fools, slabbering, letting you
squash the mail down imbecile throats.
Some snap at you, bite the hand that feeds, nip the tips
of my soft touch fingers. Some slots are barely hanging
together, they are about to fall apart, come off their hinges,
are turning green with rot, swollen from water, bent by neglect.
I get stuff the mail in to these hungry mouths: like meat,
dog meat, animal feed, litter droppings: stuffing!
Bills, postcards, junk mail, useless advertisements,
leaflets for disabled charities, magazines for wealthy men,
C.D.s clothes and books and fancy smelling salts or
large packages which I must get a signature for.
I knock the door and wake up some lucky sleeper,
and get them to sign on the dotted line:
‘Are you the knew postman…?’ She asks half asleep.
‘Yes…I am, baby…I’m learning the ropes.’ I smile eagerly, a soft touch of soft boy smile. I notice her breasts, or they notice me. I avert my eyes straight away, least she catch me and accuse me of lechery. They were just there, mountainous looking at me: pineapple wise.
I leave her the package and walk on. For the time being, the point being is, I have a lot of time on my hands, and some of the letterboxes have been more interesting than the people. And some of the people didn’t even appear to exist, it was as if, they too are only letters, coming and going, messengers, delivering themselves up to the earth, to be opened up, read, and discarded.
Anyway, clearly, I have too much time on my hands, posting mail isn’t that interesting, that’s why I’m personifying the letter boxes, because everything else was humdrum and painless. Maybe next time I’ll tell you about Mr Tony Montana who runs a taxi company, or that dog at number 23, or that old women with her false hair, and that cute guy with the blonde hair, and all the tough boys down at the depot, laughing their arse off at each other.
Until then: Don’t go Postal!