The last letter
Nobody thought is was coming yet here it is:
The last languid though heartfelt letter to be
Inked on this piece of paper.
The postal service is gone, kaput, au revoir
And the only way to deliver a letter today is to do it
Mailmen went from endangered species to
Extinct (throwing a raw steak at them now is too late)
Yet for some memories they still cross the blocks;
Whistle in the snow and ease a smile
“Junk mail or not here it is.”
Think this: during the WWI trench warfare
Young men knocked and shocked with feet
Rotting in cold mud
Had the written word to hold on to; be it theirs
Or from some beloved
Stamped, dated, watermarked
It was in the hand or a pocket or helmet
Warming the spirit like a coal furnace.
If war is an argument for letters then let
Us keep warring;
Ripping young brave hearts
So to build the right environment
to bleed some ink
If today we ignore any need
To flag an emotion on a support other than
Then we have flattened our landscape;
Taken the roll out of rivers;
Removed the rumble of avalanches;
Unboomed the sonic boom and
Unpopped the child’s floating bubble.
And stamped out our last tangible history
Personal, unviral, grandiose.