So today I did something I do occasionally do on a Sunday afternoon, namely, deliver some leaflets for the Labour party. My own little effort in the righteous struggle. Unfortunately it also meant I came face to face with letterboxes, some of the things I really need to be a bit more Zen about. Letterboxes which have such strong springs they nearly take your fingers off. Letterboxes set at the bottom of the door so you have to grovel on the floor to deliver anything. Letterboxes so replete with draft excluders and various inner flaps that the only way to get anything through them is put down everything you’re carrying and force a route open with one hand whilst wriggling the prospective delivery through them with the other, usually barking your knuckles in the process. I have never felt so sympathetic to postmen. So here are my Sunday haiku on the subject of letterboxes.
Snaps down on my fingers. Chewed,
I snatch them away.
I kneel at your door,
A suppliant, pleading for
Your vote, not your love.
A fifth columnist,
That’s me, wriggling my leaflets
Through your barricades!