| The Mail Man * * He speaks to me of a foreign land Where a Purple Heart was given. Years of hurt leak through flimsy walls of steel blue eyes. He checks his tickets; buys a beer. * Sliding behind the wheel of a beat-up caddie, he is old, worn, and tired. He cracks that single beer and * Calls out to me, "Thanks, darlin." His familiar gentle smile lingering, as he pulls away. * * *end* |