billfriday.com

fictionary… 8 megapixel artist… bloody awful poet.

Post Office

mail

Hank had his post office,

and I have my warehouse. 

Dismal places,

on graveyard shifts together,

a generation apart. 

We also both had San Pedro. 

We both got out. 

One of us dead,

the other dying. 

Because we all die a little,

every day. 

Some of us are just better at it

than others.

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

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One thought on “Post Office

  1. It’s kinda sad that we do “die” each day…and sometimes we allow ourselves to..meaning to lose the plot. I know..I’ve been in a situation (situations) like those. However, death means renewal..our bodies totally change every 7 years or so..because our cells die…same sort of thing 🙂

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