He’s telling me about how
his label machine is the god damn slowest thing
the world has ever seen, it smudges ink
all over envelopes and if the Post Office
don’t do something about it soon
he will have to write a strongly worded letter.
A packet of Quavers sits on the counter
between us. He stamps his foot and asks me
if there’s anything else I need and thanks me
for understanding about the god damn wait.
© Carl Burkitt 2022