the mailman

i never knew the mailman, employee of the year, wrote letters
to the editor, supported npr, took vacation in the smokies, paid
the way for eagle scouts to play the county fair, until i read

the morning paper, saw his face with other faces, towards
the bottom of page nine, looking like a fine man, smiling like
a gent, a photo took in '42, somewhere far from akron, our

fields of soy and corn, somewhere fighting bad guys, making
safe our homes, no, i never knew the mailman, before he
took the blight, found that whiskey sings a mean ole song,

full of comforts rare and strong, found that memory is no lover,
sleep's a torment never won, locked the door behind his only
boy, ran a poker game in charlie's storeroom, what a curious

little story, here at the bottom of page nine, of a man like
any other, sent his silver star to the president, with a note
he wrote with chalk, what had become of our mailman,

on this friday morn