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Poem

The sun is passed its zenith, the postman’s day is done;
Nigh 50 miles his horse has trod, just two thousand
More to go. My little case is a lighter load, much greater
He has born, yet still the postie takes his time ne’er
Pushing on to end of day, nor starting ‘fore the dawn. 
Ah, no: ‘tis company policy to travel before the noon 
And rest up in wayside inn when sun is high, post meridian. 
My goods can wait, there is no rush, full payment has 
Been made. No matter if I need it now, the tropic north
Is far away, Brisbane to the south; and Australia Post, 
Why there’s the rub, they never really care. A hundred yards 
From GPO is outside their next day service, and outer suburbs 
Can take a week; whilst thee and me, far, far away had best sit 
Back, and settle for the wait.

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