Texting and emails have made snail mail almost irrelevant. And postmen, too. The postie now comes twice a week if we're lucky. Martin Jensen, author of How to Get What you Want now provides a poem on the subject, with profound apologies to Sir Walter Scott and his Lay of the Last Minstrel.
The postman was depressed and old.
His withered cheek and tresses grey
Seemed to have known a better day.
His bike, electrified, did creak.
He came round only twice a week.
Beset about by union bans
And men with parcels brought in vans.
The last of all the men of mail
Assaulted by fierce dogs and hail.
His cheerful brethren had retired.
Retrenched, let go, or simply fired.
He'd poke rare letters through the slots
And lots of junk mail. Lots and lots.
The postal office now sold bosh.
Bad books, stuffed toys and sundry tosh.
And substituted for a bank.
He hated it. He thought it stank.
Each month, fewer letters came.
Emails, texting were to blame.
Eventually, he gave his notice.
And now he's fixing lifts for Otis.
You can find Martin's fun books on Buzzword
