Christmas Week—He Sees Them All
                     
We watch you, woman at the window,
searching deep.
There's not enough
to mail the tear-stained
envelope in hand.

The line is long.
We shuffle and sigh.
You continue to search
through inner, outer
pockets, purse again.

Postmaster scans elongating line.
You don't budge. Hey!
Lady! Forget certified! He'll
get the money order
with a regular stamp.

You redden, lower eyes,
hesitate, crumple
green form, white slip,
pass him a dollar bill.
He gives you change.

Before you clear the room,
he laughs and says,
Who'd steal from a guy
locked in a Federal
Prison anyway?