Confession of a UPS Driver
by T. R. Poulson
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| Amazon opens up Prime delivery service to other retailers in its latest move to compete with FedEx and UPS. —CNBC, April 21, 2022 |
I want to find a bar on a dark street
with a strange name, tucked in a city
I’ve never visited. I want to meet
the bankrupt bookstore owner, and make witty
conversation only two passionate lovers
of books would understand. I’d order wine
and tell her I’ve punched gate codes, delivered
books from Amazon to folks off Skyline
Boulevard. I’d say I’m sorry. We would joke
about Anne Sexton, Dr. Seuss, and obscure
heroes, villains. We’d share more wine, poke
fun at Hamlet, digress to Joshua, to a hooker
named Rahab, who once hung a red ribbon
to save herself when foreigners toppled
the walls of Jericho. We’d talk about hidden
twists and plots and dialog, hobbled
horses lipping grain from hands. We’d tell
secrets about who fucks whom and for how
much money. At two AM, we’d say farewell.
I’d pay the tab. I’d mingle, flirt, allow
a sleazy drunk to take me home, pretend
that everything he did to me felt good.
T. R. Poulson, a University of Nevada alum and proud Wolf Pack fan, lives in San Mateo, California. Her work has appeared in various journals, including Rattle, Mezzo Cammin, Booth, Aethlon: The Journal of Sport Literature, and previously in The New Verse News. She supports her poetry habit by working as a UPS driver.
