In the Depot

At the Depot As the snow flies, on a cold and grey December dawn to waiting homes no mails are borne from the depot. Phil Bloggs, a mailman, scans the news but his screwed up tabloid gives him the blues saying 'To compromise both sides refuse,' at the depot. Hark! Foxes, stray cats, rats, critters all. though humans languish, have a ball in the depot. On letters, parcels and Christmas boxes little mice play, as do foxes. Such a sight you never saw. as stray dogs chew and rodents gnaw in the depot. What fleshpots in sealed parcels beckon hungry vermin, who can reckon in the depot? What meaty dish, what luscious pie teeters in a box stacked high? No robber cries 'stand and deliver' though many freeze and many shiver. Phil Bloggs turns to another page and what he reads puts him in rage in the depot. For guns and rockets billions go through but for impoverished nurses barely a sou in the ghetto.