the mail carrier

Poetry by John Grochalski Φ Photography by Dan Nelson_dsc0117 

the mail carrier

comes into my job


her ebony skin glistening

from the humidity


carrying an ass you could happily ride

all the way to fantasyland


she says, goddamned, it’s sticky out there

as she slaps down the mail

and wipes her brow


you know, i say, tomorrow is going to be worse

because sometimes i like to be that guy


a sly smile, she rolls her eyes and says

whatever to tomorrow, i’m off from this shit


oh, big plans? i ask


she says, no…un-for-tun-ately

i have to attend a car safety training


mandatory, i say

the american workplace is always shoving

that kind of crap down our throats


existence distilled down to make

some middle-manager’s yearly quota


or maybe it’s because i’ve had five accidents

with the mail truck in two years, she says


christ, i say


but whatever to that too, she says


she hands me the mail

and waves hot pink painted fingers


she winks, see you later


i watch her go

that silky hair obsidian in the LED lights

rolling down her stained back


socks pulled up like a boy scout


that ass wrapped in midnight blue shorts

shaking all the way  toward the humid sky


thinking that i better start

watching the streets when i see her

out there in the wild


instead of watching that booty


because at my age a man’s health is worth way more

then a quick flash of erotic delight


as it drives recklessly down a dead end street


or through a red light

when you’re caught snoozing


maybe even looking the wrong way.

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