I grew up,
in a house,
in a town.
Where the most dangerous thing around,
was the electricity box down the street.
Across the monitor in delayed succession the new deliveries specifics sputter out: Address, order, estimated time of arrival, and or if there are any special sides. I’m first in line to take the next batch, three or four I lug in a worn-out bag and race around town, mapping out the quickest routes to get where the customers wait. I never want to be more than two minutes with one customer. How you doing tonight? You see the game? You need any cheese and peppers, any plates and napkins? That is my small talk. That is why my manager pats me on the back and says, “The best, the best damn driver I ever had.”