Postal
Amy, I was almost run down by a car
after buying my lunch today.
It was the postal police.
I was almost hit by the postal police.
This is not a joke.
There is a police force dedicated to the postal service
(the US Postal Service, mind you).
They race around in cars,
they chase down postal villains,
investigate postal crimes
unearth hidden postal agendas.
Conspiracies that they bring to their postal lieutenants
who summarily tell them to let it go, to stop obsessing,
take a vacation, some time off, you're too close to it,
it happens to the best postal policeman, that's what the
lieutenants say.
(Potato soup and a chicken sandwich, if you're curious).
I think you should apply, Amy.
I think you would do well.
I think they would give you a hat.
Something jaunty that can handle your hair expertly.
You'd cover the hat with stamps from every country in the world
They would give you a pea coat, I think.
Like the one that you've already got, but more policey.
You would look fucking great in that coat.
Not every country, mind you.
Just the ones that sound like they have decent views
of the country side
and a healthy attitude towards outgoing, independent women.
Copyright © 2015 by B.C. Edwards. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on June 24, 2015, by the Academy of American Poets.
“This poem is part of a series called ‘Letters to Friends,’ which as the title suggests is a collection of missives written to and for specific individuals. I find that writing a poem that is directed ubiquitously at everyone, everywhere, and catalogs moments meant to exist eternally to be a daunting, vertiginous task. This project attempts to narrow the focus and scope of each poem as tightly as possible without (hopefully) sacrificing any of the universality of the work. This poem is for my friend, the poet Amy Lawless.”
—B. C. Edwards
B. C. Edwards
B. C. Edwards is the author of From the Standard Cyclopedia of Recipes (Black Lawrence Press, 2014). He teaches poetry, fiction, and humor at Gotham Writers Workshop and is the associate director of the Bowery Poetry Club. He lives in Brooklyn, New York, with his husband.