The Postmans Lament (Progress) Poem by keith brown

The letter box stands
One eyed and mouth agape
Against a sterile streetscape.

From the window
Crisscross panes dissect its aging brick work

Creating a myriad of psychic pigeon holes
Through which each letter tumbles and cajoles
In vibrant print or scribed by hand
each in turn, informs, demands
mundane attention or respect,
a curt reply?
Benign neglect?
with tardy catalogues of sale
The letter box
crumbles
under the weight of a million
jaunty emails