Been Mailman for 44 years
I've got less than one to go before I retire
So I thought I would share for all of your
Ears
(One ear at a time
Only the truth is worth a dime)
And I apologize if you can feel that I'm
Beginning to perspire.
Many say to be a mailman is kinda hypnotic
My wife says I'm neurotic but
Let me explain:
On the job we gotta concentrate
And pretend we got blinders on like a horse
So to ignore the barking dog, the latest viruses
Always paying attention to the cracks in the sidewalk
To deliver what the folk want: their mail.
In June 1976, six months after I took the job,
I was suffering from recurrent dreams of
Not delivering the mail or
Delivering it to the wrong address
Always the same wrong address:
2767 Court street, Brooklyn NY 11231
It was the address of a store my Mom used to take me to
Where you could buy Ladybugs and Preying Mantises
Insects that would take care of your garden problems
And we would always be going back there because
The Lady bugs were out of stock
My shrink told me to project myself before
The start of the day
To project and think how I successfully would deliver
All those envelopes
To the address holders who
Waiting to rip 'em open -often without a proper envelope opener
With the smooth edges of a butter knife-
Would barely notice my blue uniform with black shiny shoes.
Therefore, after six months I found a spot
400 yards from the main distribution center where
I could lay
Rain or shine, snow or sleet
In my favorite mailbox and dream.
Photo by Melissa Zexter
I dreamt.
I dreamt of delivering each and every letter
I dreamt of hearing the soles of my shoes creak as I approached
The last steps leading to the doormat
I dreamt of dogs who would sit regal and observe my passing and
Viruses that would hide under the mat as I arrived
And real stamps that would stick to the lick of saliva
I dreamt.
I knew that I dreamt of my friends that I had lost touch with
Friends who were not always still pacing this earth
And I also dreamt of people who had their hearts warmed by
Reading a few scribbly lines
An emotion
Captured like in the spider's web of love.
Yet some of my dreams were laced in evil
People waiting for a letter in hope to
Conspire
And plot an illusion
and plot confusion
That would spread well beyond 11231.
Yesterday, my last dream
-Dreams because they were multiple-
Went like such:
A man, ready to spill his soul at
A computer guised as a confessional
The camera was hidden in the cross and
The voice required the man to wear a bag
On his head and it said:
"Why did you make bats smarter than preying mantises?"
In vain the bagged man tried to press "alt + delete"
Then there was a loving couple looking over towards the Twin Towers from Staten Island
They too had bags on their heads
The skylight was fading yet
They could not sense it
Only the crackling of the paper
Made their love alive
The last dream was in a loop
I was in a Woolworth's eating a
99 cent Chili
Wearing a checkered paper bag I
Could not see the display of
Hypnotically spinning cakes
Overloaded with sugars and fats
I was in this Woolworth everyday and
For some reason they would not change the menu
It was always the Chili for 99 cents
Perhaps I wanted to reach for a cake that
I could certainly smell through my checkered bag
I could reach and touch the locked display
The plastic keeping those magnificent cakes intact
The Chili smearing over the edges of my plate
I knew
I knew I would have to write about it
Before the rain would fall and
Get the envelopes wet.
