And without further adieu, my poem.
The worst thing about waiting for the mail
Is the feeling you get in your stomach.
You know that if you're patient it will come
Yet you sit there looking out the window
Waiting for that white truck to come.
You start to count the cars that pass by,
One, two, three. . .
Until you've reached 100 and it's still not here.
So you attempt to think of other things,
Of what has happened in the day and such.
But all the while, in the back of your mind
The thought of the mailman never leaves.
You try to read a book, listen to music, watch some TV.
Doing anything to distract you.
But when you start reading about the Pony Express
And the radio starts playing "Please Mr. Postman",
You realize you just can't win.
The U.S. Post Office is now in control of you.
It has enveloped you the wait, the anxiousness, all is due
To the mail truck, it is evil.
Copyright 2000. Deborah K.