When My Mother Was Alive
When my Mother was alive,
The mail always got through,
Recipients were seldom under the weather,
And replies were automatic, not automated.
There is a folder in which we keep all the replies
She got from big people and small people,
People in high places,
Those down on their luck.
Yet despite all their different backgrounds,
Of those who were not too much under the weather to reply,
There was a common denominator in all the replies
That leap out from the page,
"We care enough"
'I have read your letter from start to finish',
And 'your concern is noted and may be justified',
'This is what we plan to do in relation to your idea',
'I am pleased to tell you'
'After careful consideration and consulting experts in this field'
'I give my personal assurance'
Contrast that with today's uncertainty, of firstly,
Getting any reply,
And if you do what are the chances it is automated.
Or if you are lucky to get one that suggests it came from a human,
What are the odds of them having read it from start to finish?
And if they were not affected by the weather,
Having understood the contents.
So, what is the reason for this catastrophic breakdown in communication.
I am resending my email of the 16th of last Month,
Drawing your attention to the one I sent the month previously
In which I outlined in detail,
The reasons and my ideas on how to remedy the situation,
Which I can go into further over drinks.
PS Shame about the weather,
It never stopped the mail getting through to you,
When my Mother was alive.
Copyright © David Smith | Year Posted 2020
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