For whatever reason,
some mangled and mismanaged chemicals, no doubt,
I’m afraid of the mailman.

I’m pretty sure he’s seen me in my most vulenrable state,
and I know he’s heard me napping
through the open window.

He’s easily the kindest mailman
I’ve ever had,
and that’s precisely what makes all this
so difficult.
He even stopped to help
clear a downed tree
from the storm.

I wish I could tell him:
“It’s not you, It’s me…

It’s not you, mailman,
lugger of letters,
passer-out of packages,

it’s me.
I’m a deeply flawed human being.”