Tears Without Meaning

I was walking around in a part of the world I'd never been before, early for a business meeting as I was: a sunny day, too. A nice estate of houses back of Main Road where you might not have expected houses at all, let alone an estate.

A tiny girl on a tricycle asked: "Are you the postman?"

"No," I answered with conviction and assurance.

"I told you he wasn't," said a little boy nearby.

I walked on confident that, although not particularly sad, I would later find myself crying bitterly about the event.


(published 'Psychopoetica' 1989)