A promise of freedom
Something of my own
But there were hundreds of them.

It got worse:
"You have to put the leaflets inside, OK?"
The first time my mum helped me.

They gave me a bag - too small
But I could still hardly lift it
I would have to come back.

My own road was easy
But the letterboxes never end
I don't even know the name of this street.

Then: growl - snatch - thud against the doorframe
I check. My fingers are still there.

Next: a love letter: "no free papers"
All they had to do was ask.

You could smell the bad ones
An amputated car
Beware of the dog
No salesmen
Net curtains with brown edges.

The door swung and spat through yellowed teeth:
"We don't want your fucking paper, alright?"
Too many houses
I'd never remember.

And then back to the familiar
"Got a job, have you, you ugly prick?"
I laugh to show how tough I am.

Eventually: a plastic bag
"No mixed coin"
Would it be enough?
I had my doubts.