Poem for the Day

Ode to the Post(wom)an
It is always the postman delivering news,
outstretching arms to that most noticeable
point - letterbox at land's edge. Friend and
lifelong reminder of correspondences. And although
those dreaded bills equate to the missing zero at the bank,
there's harmony in a house with gas, light globes glowing dust.
Little envelopes and packages move forward
like gifts: birthday parcels, a postcard from Turkey,
stamps to re-cycle if they've missed the mark.
Most days the postie steers his heart like a looping
Evel Knievel on a wobbly ten-stroke. There's grit & sand,
grass without splendour, cars on-the-verge, savage dogs,
tom cats hypnotised by scent. We hardly praise the postie
in this current road rage, a visitor to our home we never
invite for tea. We don't call out his or her name,
We don't know our postman, do we?