My mother said the envelop had to be just so,
According to the ritual, or else—
The stamp most carefully aligned,
The destination precisely clear and centered,
The return address complete.
An awful fate awaited those that didn’t measure up:
Suspended animation. The undeliverable, the unreturnable,
Writings and greetings destined never to be read,
Were certain to be consigned to the dreaded Dead Letter Office.
This fate today is euphemized into “Mail Recovery Centers,”
And initialized into MRC.
It’s lost its ominosity.
I doubt a kid today could be afraid, or take a warning
Much to heart, or take the time to contemplate
The troubling paradox of all the unread writings.
Dead Letters
John Dougherty: B.A. (History) + Grad School Dropout + Musician + Cabinetmaker/Machinist + Cook + High School Teacher + Chef + Free-lancer + Chef-Instructor + Nature Columnist + Teacher, again = (will wonders never cease) Poetry.