Four Walls and a Signature

Postcards sweat and wilt
on the sill, their atrophied
bodies soft. They curse

the weather and spit.
Postcards crouch in their boxes,
tramps beneath bridges,

rubbing their broad hands.
They shiver. In the corners,
postcards cling, swaying,

fingernails sunk deep
into the walls. Some let go
and fall to the ground.