Late Mail

I think about your mailbox.

It is still getting things
Addressed to you,
Still loyally accepting
Tributes to your memory.

But where you were,
Another someone is;
As you once were
Where some other
Someone had been.

And maybe their mail
Still comes, too.
The great chain of being,
Kept alive by robots.

Do I think of you more often
Than your mailbox
Gets your mail?
Which of us has been
More loyal?