Written in fun for a good friend, who “only comes from Scotland” but who works for a postal agency and pushes hundreds of envelopes through the franking machine every night
His sturdiness quite surprised her As strong as an ox, she thought, He’s been at it for years, but she saw, through her fears That his loyalty couldn’t be bought
Whatever attracted her to him Was something to do with the mail Was it just an illusion, that his speed of extrusion Meant his reputation would never once fail
She couldn’t believe all the gossip Of the numbers that went through his grasp Before she let go, she must let him know How his output just made her gasp
Be honest dear Frank, she whispered Those letters you send, are they mine? You’re not bound to another? No, you’re my only lover, And his voice shivered all down her spine.
So gather those letters my lovely Let’s get on with the job that’s in hand I’m a man of few words now, I’m all action When I’m done, you’ll not want to stand
So at it they both set off boldly No others could match their success The more that she gave, the more that he took Until she finally ran out of breath
But Frank N MacHinny kept on going Extruding his mailness all night As the moon dropped down lower, they turned off the power And Frank quietly gave up the fight
No comments:
Post a Comment