It must be fun - or so I'd like to think - <br />doing a 'people' job, <br />if that's what you really like to do; <br />like being a born bright barman in a not-too-busy bar <br />where everyone you meet's a challenge of some sort - <br />to spark the eyes of strangers, or <br />to plumb the depths of lonely mind and heart; <br /> <br />and postman, on a regular morning round - <br />not the early one who drops through blank, closed doors <br />of houses where only the dog's awake, and finger-hungry; <br />but the one who has the parcels, has to knock, <br />and meets you face to face; and meets your gratitude, <br />maybe your full-on smile... <br /> <br />but now, the latest guy (where do the happy ones all go?) - <br />he's really weird. He must know by now <br />that I'm eager for his ring, because that means <br />another poetry book; and yet when I unleash unshaven joy <br />and greet him like a friend I've really missed, <br />he hands me the parcel with his face <br />turned full ninety degrees to the right, as if <br />my smile, my breath, bears loathsome foul disease, <br />or as if in some shared past, I'd done him some unpardonable hurt. <br />I sometimes wonder if he has some history of abuse, and now <br />he's scared to meet anyone who might be kind to him... <br /> <br />What a pity that he'll never meet <br />Mr Weekly Organic Veg <br />who's born to live in joy, it seems, <br />whose smile is larger than his face, <br />whose eyes are shining with a friendship that's unqualified, <br />and who reminds me in five seconds flat <br />what life's all about.<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0219-people-people/