Postman

I wait for love patiently
the way one waits
for a special delivery.
All day, I sit by the door
ears flared like a calabash
waiting quietly for the bell to ring.

By noon it rings eventually,
excitedly, I leap for the door
but it’s only my neighbour Mosun;
borrowing a candle or two.

By evening it rings again
but it’s not the postman;
It’s two witnesses of Jehovah
grinning from ear to ear.

But I know, like the Postman
sometimes love delays
but she comes eventually
as that parcel in the postman’s bag
or as a neighbour’s excuse
to borrow a candle at noon.