By John Delaney
No, the bad news hasn’t reached me yet,
though my body’s been preparing for it.
We’ve come a long way from the Pony Express.
Still, the distances have been challenging
to cross, the obstacles to overcome—
childhood, some bruises and broken bones,
foolhardy adventures, dares and dangers.
Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom
deters the postman on his appointed rounds.
He always finds my forwarding address.
The mail comes every day, mostly junk,
offering palliatives and placebos.
I wish for a signed, handwritten letter.
If it tells the truth, then I’ll feel better.
Copyright 2019 Delaney