Oliver parted the blinds with his index finger
and watched the mail lady crouch,
shoving fistfuls of mail through the slots.
His birthday was two days ago.
Aunt Sue promised a card
covered with a baseball field
with a child proudly showing off
his dirty knees and ripped
t-shirt. The card is never important, though.
Oliver would always rip the envelope open
and turn the card upside down.
A brand new twenty dollar bill
would fall into his lap.
He ran to the foyer and hiked up
the waist of his pajama pants
so the moose prints around the ankles
wouldn't drag. The slot flew open
and pieces of yellow and white mail
fell onto the ground in an unorganized pile.
"Hey mail lady, where's my birthday card?
I turned eight two days ago."
He looked through the slot,
watching her stop on the bottom of the stoop
and lean towards the door.
"Maybe tomorrow."
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