The Postman  

RegularGuyXXL 60M
0 posts
10/17/2005 10:33 pm

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

The Postman

It is sundown.

Half expectedly,

He comes up the walk

And knocks upon the door.

I greet him.

He stands there weeping.

Handing me a letter.

He tells me it contains

Terrible personal news.

He falls to his knees,

'Forgive me! Forgive me',

He pleads unconvincingly.

Knowing what he brings

Still I let him in.

He wipes his eyes

While I stand unconvinced.

Cautiously, I smile inside.

The collar of a secreted plaid shirt

Protrudes around his neck.

His dark untruth

Is like a Piss stain on my brain.

Looking helpless, nervous, small,

He curls up like a ball

And feigns at sleeping,

While I compare the batch of

Fragrance powdered letters

With no return addresses

Still unopened,

Delivered to myself, along the same vein.

I think softly out loud:

You shall live by inflicting pain.

This odorless letter, Hand delivered,

Containing terrible personal news,

Is not quite the same.

Looking his way, I muse,

Recalling the Town Cryer:

You are a dead man walkin'

Among the living -

You shall forever go truly unrepentant,

Eternally unforgiven.

Damnation is the price you'll pay

For an evil man's desire.

-Jerzy Pollack

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