Where have they gone, the
dead postmen
Who
used to be everywhere, riding tandem bicycles,
Climbing
out of wicker laundry baskets,
Carried
on rugs by strong-armed women,
Sleeping
in trees, pretending to be vultures
Improbably
wintering on Snediker Avenue?
On
cold nights they'd build street fires
A
little apart from the fires the homeless men made.
If
you were hoping for a letter from the dead
You'd
try to forget it. Dead postmen
Only
deliver mail you don’t expect.
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