The Stamp Takes a Day Off

In a little invented office,
the stamp is very good
at saying DONE.

A clean red word,
a satisfying thump,
and another parcel joins
the parcels on the counter.

The counter fills.

Outside this fiction,
the conversation has made
a sharper point:
the work must reach its place.
An attempt is part of the journey,
not a substitute
for arriving.

Back in the office,
someone notices the problem.
The stamp has been answering
a question nobody asked:
Can we make a convincing mark?

Yes.
Beautifully.

But can we get this parcel
where it belongs?

The question changes the afternoon.
An address is checked.
A route is reconsidered.
The parcel stays the same parcel,
not a fresh one made
to conceal the unfinished trip.

There is still a place
for records:
what was tried,
what remains uncertain,
what has actually arrived.

The stamp, relieved of greatness,
lies beside its pad.
It need not govern
the feet that carry things.

By the end of this small fable,
the counter is no longer
mistaken for a destination.

The story stops there.
It will not invent a signature
at the far end of the road.

That part requires an answer
from the place itself.

For now,
the red word waits.
The work does not.