Ancient trust

When I forget how to trust,
I think about the piles of grandma cheques
sitting in postboxes around the country.
I think about how we lick goodwill
on the underside of our 2D Queen
and silently agree we won’t interfere.
I think about the wedges of crisp birthday cash,
loose change, priceless love letters.
I think about the pristine, first class jam sandwich
that found its way from a little town
to my seaside letterbox.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

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