At the post office, the hated post office, where lines greet me
and awful racks of greeting cards
Line walls, ignored.
The post office and its
Perfume of desperation.
The place where scales and stamps sit in dusty corners
Like aristocrats awaiting their bloody fate.
The post office, doomed, because
It is about
and we have no
PLACE anymore. We are no longer
we are no longer
e-people, shoving our lives and our
Has no shape
P.O. stands for
Pissed off, that the
WiFi doesn’t work.
Now’s the time to
Collect the actual.
A storied past.
It will be memorabilia
Hot on the auction block
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