Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, POST OFFICE ETCHINGS: 7. POSTAL INVESTIGATOR (A), by AUSTIN PHILIPS


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

POST OFFICE ETCHINGS: 7. POSTAL INVESTIGATOR (A), by                    
First Line: Ten of the clock. An airless, august night
Last Line: Of loss, alike, of liberty and pension.
Subject(s): Letters; Postal Service; Postmen; Post Office; Mail; Mailmen


NIGHT

TEN of the clock. An airless, August night.
A felt-floored passage, scarcely two-foot wide.
Window with frosted pane, wherefrom a slight
Scraped-away patch affords me aching sight
Of scores of strenuous sorters, who divide
Thousands of letters, fruit of town collections,
Despatching these in dozens of directions.

Their task is temporarily done. They go
Downstairs, a space, to their retiring-room.
The huge, high Hall has emptied. There, below,
Reigns Peace in place of riot. No lights glow,
Save where one lamp alone relieves the gloom:
This by the Overseer, as he sits revising
'Returns', reports. He makes most pregnant rising.

Slowly this man parades the parquet floor.
(My heart begins to hammer. Breath comes short.)
Suspect, this last ten years, he stops before
Each 'board' in turn. Licensed inquisitor,
Examines 'locals', as if for missort ...
Sudden he whisks at letter, thrusts it, thieving,
Within his pocket. Seeing is believing!

MORNING

Six on an August morning. Lo! I stride
A Public Park, waiting agreed-on sign,
With plain-clothes policeman walking at my side.
Someone appears and signals. I decide
Swiftly—responsibility all mine.
And thus, the sleuth-hound of the Law unleashing,
See my companion 'cross the road go flashing.

A man emerges from Post Office door,
Handbag in hand, well on in middle-age,
He waits an omnibus for home. Before
This can come up, my apt ambassador
Makes himself known, and hastens to engage
A cab. I join him and, incontinently,
Convey my capture to the Ministry.

There I administer legal 'caution', and
Make known my business. At the outset, say
I seek 'test-letter' which, beneath his hand,
Was placed as a missort, at my command ...
That, in the ordinary, routine way,
His task it was to make investigation,
And send it on to rightful destination.

"It has not come to hand!" I urge. Hear vow
He "never saw the thing!" So, next, I tell
Him to turn out his pockets. See him bow
To Fate. Obey me dully. Sad and slow,
Set letter, opened envelope, as well
As contents, (postal orders) on the table:
Caught in the act. Completely culpable.

Next I produce, and show him, file on file
Of papers. Place before him patent proof
Of past offendings ... how, with cynic wile,
He, the offending father, did beguile
Daughters to forge false names in his behoof ...
See him fall faint, at length, beneath the tension
Of loss, alike, of liberty and pension.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net