Oh, dearest Miss Mailwoman
How hard it must be for you
To perform your services
In an era when the Web
Provides most of the items
That used to pass through your hands
A mere twenty years ago
Someone in your position
Was a primary method
Of sending communique
Over massive distances
Now only a memory
What now passes through your hands
are things of little substance
A peddler of bank statements
And of porno magazines
Is all that you have become.
What bitterness do you feel?
As the digital age grows
And further minimizes
The need for your services
Are you waiting for the day
When once again your labor
Will matter to those you serve?
