Skin

He's rumbled
sifting through everyone's post,
just for fun, his fingers catching envelopes
like gecko tongues,

rattling the little brass door
of his mailbox, out the other end
(the sorting room,
where parcels are bundled
like Christmas presents,) and U-bending
into other private letter-nests.

Rumbled by students,
a 'Por Favor!' of a charming grin,

then his hands become
projectile bubblegum,
with a smack latch onto the water pipes,
then in the snap
of super-elastic
he's flying into a sheer wall of sunlight,

a slingshot mischievist
in a skin that is elephant and rubber-tree
rolled into one.