Gone Postal: A Poem By Me

Gone Postal

They say, “He went postal,
right off his route,
right off all the sorting,
stacking, filing, slotting,
precisely organizing,
then delivering.”
They say, “For a while there,
he went glassy-eyed,
immobile, paralyzed.
Then he:
slung letters, postcards, packages
all over the place;
prostrated postal apple carts;
and stormed away,
sceaming at himself,
at others,
at the world.”
Of that they say,
“Good thing we’re not
postal people,
so able
to get gone
so postal.”