Poem #17: Christmas is coming, union buster

December 4, 2020

There are no stewards left at my shop.
On union leadership, crimes against humanity, and what to say when people wish you Merry Christmas.

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My brother is a letter carrier for the United States Post Office. Every day, he walks around and puts mail into slots on people's houses. He also writes poetry.

Post Office Poems is a series of short meditations on existing in your body in the real world, the joys and tragedies of bureaucracy, and The Mail.

Take a moment with us to consider the glue that holds our mutual lives together: the discount glue, that is only sort of sticky, that you can't get off your shirt.

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