I always thought front door a threat,
clang ring of keys, transfer, cage, sack,
but what if fingertip were trapped,
that heavy metal swinging shut?
My guilt recalls, trudge ’63,
drift snow piled up to tempt the boy,
as mouth fed, handfuls through the slit,
directions washed, the thaw on Quink.
My first attempt at birthday card,
full routine learned, head list ticked off,
my greeting writ, the stamp, the seal,
but posted, named, without address.
Then my first job, south western gas,
to add first postcodes, index cards,
those fuels bills unpaid today,
when Exeter, Uttoxeter.
And now time’s torn, both speed yet drop,
catch the last post, watch clock but wait,
that daily mat, square on the round
is circular, bargains, MP.
Though now I’m settled, fixed my post,
the pillars stand, direction points,
as but for stuffing, Christmas, full,
my mail is e, a letter, rare...?
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