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Posta lady

Playing her part in morning routine

Not for her, regular as clock-work

But a constant none the less

On bicycle ridden with practiced assurance

Carrying sack-fulls of paper promises


On gloomy mornings

Or summer day starts

The reflection of fluorescent vest

And rolled-up sleeves

Twin cords of hair swaying

Beneath well-worn baseball cap

Delivery of wry smiles and small parcels


A woman at one with her labours

No difference for her between

News good or bad

From far-flung places or closer to home

The final demands on

Unlimited credit longings


On occasion

There’s gifts and remarks

For a celebration

But mostly she posts through


Exclusive invitations



Travel firms

And financial agents

To come and spend now

Worry over it later


There’s no blame

Laid at the shoes of the messenger

For what drops on the mat behind each closed door

Postal lady delivers

Those items

That we mainly asked for.

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