Deliver a packet to me

The courier guy
         waits for me
He has rung the doorbell
       with the desperation of a
       man who needs to be saved
While I’ve been dropping anchor
       repeating the syllable of Om
       in my bedroom
This packet better be good
I mumble as I sign the delivery sheet.

A glass of water? No, thanks.

It’s too hot to be delivering
courier packets anyway, I say
But then I am aware of his
       stare
Go on, it’s been said before –
Sir-ji, after seeing you I have
       forgotten all my miseries
I smile and say thanks
It’s not a bad deal after all
            this wheelchair

I ought to advertise
     in the papers –

Deliver a packet to me

and say goodbye to your sorrows