blur brings mail

our female mail person is

shorter than yours;

head down walking,

moves along in a flash,

zipping by.

i've yelled hello when she put mail in our box,

she never acknowledges me.

maybe her ears are plugged into something.

an unabridged version of Moby Dick?

or hot music?

i'll never know.

she never sees me when i wave

won't leave her cookies this Christmas

like the old days.

instead i'll tape a note on the mail box:

"the whale kills Ahab."
not true, i wrote something silly,
i think we're on the end of the mail route.
the mail person wants to
finish work, go home,
listen to music, read a book.