THIS IS NOT AN ABANDONED VEHICLE

I remember discovering Bukowski on paper

When his words made sense

I was not at art school but Barry was

I went in with cans of beer

To bribe my friend with imbibing 

Whilst his classes went on

I was there to share a vicarious part of student life

And to get a part of the more physical action

We had dreams and read or read and had dreams

Within which the girls became real

All did well for themselves

But I guess it’s a struggle

I didn’t learn much so

I became a postman

Who drank in

What else is there to do after a shift at noon?

The collection

The delivery

Is easier than the composition

I reveled as an ambassador

Presenting monarch embossed packages

After shakingly waking rude people in the a.m.
To be uniformedly approachable in afternoon bars 

It was not legit

To take a van home

Or on an errand

But we drivers did

As management had done before

When you needed to sneak off to the beach

The bookies or do a spot of shopping

A quick snort was forgiven
Or given for

The thing with a Royal Mail trucklet 

Is that they are parkable anywhere

Even on the double yellows

We were safe

Police would sometimes commandeer us for this hi vis purpose

And like-minded criminals in their surveillance knew

I took to abusing the technique 

My car slumbering overnight pubside

Displayed a sign that red

And yellow in its liveried elegance

Explained 

This Is Not An Abandoned Vehicle

But the Real Mail 
On Official Business