Post Office Poems: Recent Episodes
Eben Hoffer
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.
I am no longer writing poems about the post office.
On fallen petals, what your mind gets up to if left un-distracted, and the return--at long last-- of the future.
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The 60 hour work weeks are gone. 40 is a lot to ask, but we’re nearly there.
On remembering the things you like to do when you have time, practicing route time, and loving things in their own way.
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Power’s back on, the car’s dug out, so back to work it is.
On the dream of fixing things instantly, actually fixing things slowly, and getting old with your ideal self.
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I found myself staring at the sky, verklempt over some old addresses.
On saying goodbye, getting what you want, and learning to go slowly.
If not for a variety of things, it would have been OK.
On cascading failures, the effect of rainfall on mail delivery, and the goop in your floating-glitter cell phone case.
postofficepoems.com
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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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The care home where my route begins is divided into three sections, the last of which is where they care for those who are beginning to drift.
On newspapers, reminding people of their name, and the knack of being loved.
postofficepoems.com
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Covid case at my station. How's work going, man?
On contacts of contacts not counting as contacts, checking in, and doing the things that somebody has to do.
Featuring: an interview.
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WHAT THE MIDDLE CLASSES DO DURING QUARANTINE
On the people who Get The Mail, the impulse to not give a shit, and something, not exactly sure what, about empathy and its boundaries.
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During the primary I felt good about being a necessary part of our democratic process but I feel nothing right now except sore.
On the distinction between state and federal labor law, delivering negative campaigns materials to their target candidate, and the mailboxes that pinch one's fingies.
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Mostly out til after dark delivering these days.
On glowing animal eyes in the headlamp, defending the house, and a particular bunch of red, red apples.
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I was converted to a real carrier about a month ago.
On rolling your advos, the incentive to suck up vs the incentive to lie, and spiders.
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Growing in a heap of dirt by the gas pedal of Route 4's van, I found a seedling.
On names, van maintenance, and mom. Also some podcast housekeeping.
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The post office sent out little cards with helpful information about mailing in your ballot.
On glossy little cards, being despair's sucker, and going back to work.
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Do we romanticize the right stuff about The Mail? Should we romanticize it at all?
On collaboration, unionization, and trust (occasionally founded): delivering the primaries in Oregon.
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OF THE TEN CCAs WHO HAVE BEEN ASSIGNED TO MY STATION DURING MY TENURE.
On injuries, setting a timer, and open positions at Target.
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PLAGUE EDITION.
On heroism, toilet paper, and needing a toilet.
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In the nicer part of the district, the houses don't smell like anything.
On the nicer part, the cheaper part, and news to nobody.
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A GLOSSARY OF POSTAL SLANG, ONLY SOME OF WHICH I MADE UP.
On nixie, skulch, and UBBM.
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Federal law prevents me from saying your amazing name.
On getting to know people, getting priced out, and Golden Dawn.
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I've been on the same route for a month, and I'm starting to understand what the point of this job is.
On knowing every house, delivering to houses that aren't there, and making things up.
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I am a new mail carrier, and I don't have a route of my own yet.
On being a new mail carrier: routes, seniority, and ad-supported business models.
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