SENT THE WORLD OVER
Like little rich kids keeping company, paring the
world between slices of apple and pear, they're
walking all over the land. Every town with a youth
hostel keeps a few. The slender girl from France,
eating Kix with her hand. The mustachioed guy from
Ankara, looking for the stars and stripes. I never talk,
just let them do it all. They like to find things : 'where this
Ellis Island?' 'How to find the Justice Keep I read of?'
I don't always know the answer - just blaming the
language works. They go away. I tell them I'm only
a lowly letter-carrier and can do them no more.
'Even here, in America, there are limits, yes, and
places which I cannot go.'
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