I am sure my mail lady loves me
She does stop by my house frequently
She brings me letters, bills and adverts
And with great force my mail she inserts

Though jammed, crammed, mashed and squashed is the mail
Like an abstract origami fail
Of which she fits into my mail box
Deftly and quick like she’s on the clock

And without so much as a toodaloo
She leaves as if she is just passing through
But I know she just wants my attention
Her act is just a cry for affection

I’ll let her know her message is received
I’ll leave behind something she can retrieve
A purple handmade folded paper crane
Which I’ll then crush and vigorously maim