Preferably, Postal

Preferably, Postal 

I prefer the Post Office,

Pretty pink and gray counters to park my presents on,

Ballpoint pens wrapped in tape and priority mail stickers held secure by metal ball chains,

I prefer the peeps, 

Practicing their patience,

Middle-aged moms contemplating between fixed rate or bubble wraps,

Grandpas trying out their pickup lines-

“You can cut in here, if you want”,

80s hairstyles galore:

Poofed -up curling iron bangs, banana clips, freshly blackened and burnt orange locks, 

Fathers juggling envelopes with toddlers and addresses of distant relatives,

Stressed out folks thumping their toes, and sneaking a spot or two when someone looks down,

And Shelley, 

Popping her head up from behind a counter,

“I’m open down here!”

Don’t let Shelly’s bottle thick glasses and half-dome posture prevent you from unloading all of your 10 packages,

Her robotic spider arms extend from their robust hinges and begin smacking stickers of all shapes and colors profusely over your bubble wraps,

Precise punches on her touch screen,

Proper matching of apartments, streets and cities with zip codes,

She never fails to ask if your address looks correct on the screen,

Or, neglects to remind you to declare “I did not package any aerosols, liquid mercury or lithium batteries”,

She does not initially notice me from yesterday, but pipes up when she sees the address on my envelope “Hey, didn’t you come in here a few days ago? 

Malia street sounds familiar”.

How wonderful to be noticed, 

Even if it’s just by the address on your package.