As I sift through hoards of mails,
unlike letters, starred, it fails
to entice me. As the windy gusts
provide the necessary background noise,
it suddenly derails.
I've seen too much, it all disgusts
me how we
drop our scales into the pan
and scramble,
nitpick or devour anything we can.

I am thankful for the eggs I eat, the bread and jam,
I am happy to see 'you've got mail' even if it turns out
to be spam.