my pal the mailman knocks twice

I opened the door…

and, there stands

my beautiful pal the mailman

with all that junk mail

in a bag slung across

her lovely shoulder

riding her scooter

that’s how we deliver

the mail here on banana island.

she always knocks twice

and I come outside

and we pick bananas

off my tree.

we smoke our Cuban cigars

and rock in those woven chairs…

when no one knows

nor cares what goes on here on our banana island

that being drunk on that route

makes no difference to anyone here

we talk about back in her day

it keeps the noggin cool

in such a repetitive job

and the lonely old geezer

waits for his mail patiently as time flows by

wearing a sweat stained straw hat

with a drink in his hand

and the breeze blows smoothly

across the front porch

as sail boats all

glide by in their own time

no hurry at all

never in a hurry

on top smooth water

and time stands almost still

but time is growing short

as she loves to talk

to the grandpa she’d adopted

she now calls family.

 

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