A Letter
My mum is in love with the
postman.
Well, not really.
Sometimes, though, I daydream
that she is
(Yes, I know it’s wicked, but
You’ve got to admit, he
Looks like a spy or
something—a
Good spy, mind you)
And that some morning my
brother will wake up
And he’ll wake me up
And we’ll walk into the
kitchen
To find a note which says:
Dear
Children,
I
have run off with the postman,
Who
was secretly
An
Australian ambassador
(He
owns a sheep ranch!),
But
don’t fret.
I
will write every day and
I
will be back in three months
With
presents for all of you.
We
will buy the house across the street—
The
one between the Hanson’s and Don’s
[The postman is very
wealthy]—
And
have a maid.
Tell
your father I regret any inconvenience,
And
remind him that David has a doctor’s appointment Thursday.
Love,
Mum
[Except she would sign
“Mom.”]
It is an odd daydream—
The whole affair is
ridiculous, I know.
Still, I have named the
postman Alan.
