Poem: I Used To Live In An Old Post Office

I used to live in an old post office,

a flat, that once upon a time had been the place where people 

bought stamps and weighed parcels and sent items.

Once a week, without fail, for the two years I lived there, a shuffling old chap would arrive at the front door, his hand shaking as he extended an envelope.

I’d take it, say thanks. Shut the door.

Later that …