Inside the Box

During the summer, we collect our mail at a very old post office.

                                                     Inside the Box

                                       The antique post office boxes
                                       stand stacked in rows
                                       like tiny treasure chests,
                                       their aged brass dully glowing
                                       in the lobby’s filtered sunlight.
                                       Patrons peer through misted glass
                                       to glimpse shadowy possibilities
                                       (the staggered lean of envelopes,
                                       the graceful curl of magazines)
                                       then crouch or stretch like safecrackers,
                                       slowly spinning concentric circles:
                                       the outer letters, the inner pointer
                                       carefully aligned. The doors open and
                                       the prize is revealed: mostly coupons
                                       and come-ons, counterfeits reminding us
                                       in this life of circulars, much is promised
                                       and little delivered.