This older woman <br />who never seems to be quite dressed <br />or have any clothes to match <br />or seems awake <br />in a regularly <br />disheveled way… <br /> <br />lives across the highway <br />from the matchbox size Post Office in Kansasville, Wisconsin <br />population 235 <br /> <br />she walks in everyday at 7: 05 am <br />to check her mailbox <br />which is always empty <br /> <br />because her husband <br />who is either a early rising farmer <br />or an up all night alcoholic <br />always picks up the mail <br />before she arrives <br /> <br />everytime I see her <br />she always asks me <br />“How is the car running? ’ <br />“Is your wife doing fine? ” <br />“Do you still have a job” <br />“How is your son doing? ? ? <br />“He is so cute…” <br />acting as if our lives <br />were advertised in the local newspaper <br /> <br />I do not know her name <br />I have yet to see anyone else <br />besides me, <br />talk to her <br />and the most that you can get <br />out of me that early in the morning <br />is “that’s right” <br />and why I say that <br />I haven’t figured that out yet…. <br /> <br />maybe it is because <br />she is so lonely <br /> <br />she could never have imagined <br />someone would <br />think enough about her life <br />to write a poem <br />about her<br /><br />Oscar Mireles<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/this-is-a-poem-disguised-as-a-letter-in-the-dead/
