At the Post Office,
Assuming we both were doing the same…
A lady…wholesome as a quilting-bee…asked,
I’m going in to mail a letter
Want me to mail yours?
Nonplussed by her offer,
I smiled demurring …
A slight hesitation she picked up quick.
So she dimpled her smile, and said,
You really can trust me.
No sweet-faced nun
Had greater warmth.
And since I wasn’t mailing the Magna Carta,
And she did seem friendly as clotted cream,
I handed the letter with exuberant thanks
And drove off…
Trusting, but queasy.
You let her do it?
A friend asked, dismayed. .
I wouldn’t have let her.
Your check and your name and your signature…
She’s got ‘em all.
Now wishing I hadn’t,
I wait for a call
With bad news from the bank.