Poetry

Meeting

Elizabeth Smither

In the suburban Post Office

by the card rack

tiers and tiers of platitudes

for every eventuality

two adorable thin ladies stand

(they could be twins:

equal height, curled hair

making aureoles of their heads

springy energy like metre

in their stance). “We like

your writing,” they chorus.

“We are your fans.” Oh quick

is my favourite word and now

it’s given back by two

I like immensely in return.