I wait in line to ship
nine paperback books to
nine different addresses
in the United States, media
rate. The Post Office guy begins
stamping and affixing bar code
stickers and postage paid stickers on to my
packages and he gets about three
packages in and he says to me,
a line is starting to form and I’m
the only one here. Could you step
aside for a couple of minutes so
I can help these people waiting?
At first I’m like, no problem, but
then I start to think about it,
and I say, I’m not sure why I should
have to wait in line twice. I mean,
I’ve already waited in line once.
And then he says, in 1951 your mother
had an affair with the mail man.
I stood there for a second, scratching
my head, and there was something
I wanted to say, but I said nothing
and stepped out of line to let everyone
else go ahead of me.
Dreams are weird but I’m wary of posting mine online because I’m always the last to know what they really mean. But in this case, I have no idea, though I like the weirdness of it.
Except that, yeah, in ’51 you weren’t born yet so now I’m wondering about your paternity.
Hint: I am the youngest of 4.
I’m gonna stop there.