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Errand-running shadows nip my thoughts,
disturb my flow of passive reveries;
they clutch their parcels, take outlandish routes
to meet their claim of "fast deliveries".
I hear them huff-and-puffing close behind,
and try to find a niche where I can hide.
Their packages are filled with broken dreams --
too many times I've opened them, and cried.
I fabricate a detour sign and swerve
behind a pile of boulders near the road.
But it's no use. They spot me, and I scowl
to see the ugly contours of their load.
This time, I read the fine print on their forms.
Surprise! I'm not obliged to sign my name!
I give a saucy grin, a flippant bow....
and promptly send them back from whence they came!
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