dimanche 18 décembre 2011

The last letter

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.