Who prescribes that with wings spread one must fly high
Low flight is also a flight
With wind rustling like birds’ chirps
And wheels speeding like shooting stars
The meal delivery note attached to a takeout
In clear black and white symbolizes urgency
Like a legal document and a magic incantation
From the three hundred and sixty industries
Rushes out a new career
And from the twenty-four solar terms
One for deliverymen
A time cruncher catches sixty-one minutes from an hour
And delivers tenderness racing against time
They pave the second and minute hands on the road
Like a well-arranged black-and-white keyboard
Who can say highbrow songs must find few singers
The sound low on the ground
Is the symphony for all things striving upward
If there’s a fifth season in the human world
It must be spring for deliverymen