postman
May 31, 2007
He never sleeps. If he does his eyes don’t know it. They’re flat and dull and hemmed in by circles. The size of baseballs. The colour of walnut stain. It looks like he’s been punched. A good one-two. He hasn’t.
He’s nice. He’s quiet. He always tries to help.
If I saw him on the street I’d walk the other way and not feel bad about it. He works the night shift at a national paper. Stays late to watch us arrive early.
His skin is paper thin. The life in it looks like ink.
