Postman
by Seree Cohen Zohar
Sun-ruddy cheeks puffed in anticipation
of his titian beard tickling newborn fingers,
sprigs from a wildflower bouquet flung
cheerfully above a fresh-clipped lawn,
there he goes, the postman
striding home, telegram in hand
while you, conqueror and tease supreme
of oils and brushes lathered in sunlight, left us
the rousing chuckle that bounces
Joseph-Etienne’s artfully untrimmed plume
across the span of his double-breasted cobalt sea.