Today’s piece from the archive is “Without realising it, the postman left a poem.” It was a great delight last year when I composed this poem from the postman’s pre-Christmas visits. This year eight cards have made their way through the door, but I am still waiting for a verse.
Books: BeadedQuill’s Blurb Bookstore
Something for you –
reads these cards.
They’re blue this year
for the seasonal drop.
can be an item
Special Delivery, Tracked, Recorded Signed For,
An International Item.
That one excites people.
Or the item could be
a letter, a packet, a catalogue,
a number of items
though never in my time,
a perishable item.
Yet again, an item that could not be delivered.
No-one at home.
The card through the letterslot.
Last one for the shift.
Back to the depot.
Turn up my music.
I could do with some tea.
A companion piece to Monday’s poem, “Without realising it, the postman leaves a poem”. As an exercise, this poem is written from the point of view of the postman.
I’m now wondering about a poem in which the postman is the poet.