You’re just better at hiding it
inside your leather shoes with
the pennies you keep for good
luck tucked beneath your arch
beneath your shirt stays but rich
people don’t wear those things
and you know you’re just a mailman
and that’s okay.
You’re crazy about lemons
remember to keep your face
puckered, sucking on the skins
while you wait for dinner, fully
buttoned up with brass, and tepid
blue behind you. It must be hard
in your chair—so stiff, so poor
and so simple.
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