As you can imagine, a man in my position
Receives a lot of mail. My poor wife, on the other hand,
None at all. Until recently that is
When the postman dropped her a line.
His motives, I am sure, were altruistic,
And her reply, written that same morning,
Prompted by feelings of courtesy.
His letter by return, however, was ripped open
In a manner that could be regarded as unseemly.
And when my wife took breakfast
Locked in her room, composing a reply
I should have spotted the danger signals.
But, being absorbed in various projects, did not.
In fact, I delighted at seeing her fulfilled,
The loose ends of her days gummed down.
It was BURMA at the beginning of the third week
That set the alarm bells ringing. Although
Not widely travelled, I am a man of the world.
And the thought of My Angel, Being Undressed
And Ready for Postman Pat spurred me into action.
Our nearest pillar-box is at the end of the road
And that morning I crouched behind it, until,
Just before noon, she approached, the ink not yet dry.
And as she offered the profane wafer to its iron lips
I leaped out and snatched it from her grasp.
In the privacy of my rooms I tore open the letter
And confronted her with its contents.
‘Pen pals,’ she insisted. ‘We are only pen pals.’
‘Pen pals,’ I pointed out, ‘don’t make plans
To cavort in the back of Delivery Vans.’
I insisted that the relationship be terminated
Immediately, and dictated the following:
‘Dear Ken,’ (for Ken it was)
‘I wish to break off this ludicrous affair,
This adultery-by-proxy. I will have my revenge
You bastard. Yours, Audrey’ (for Audrey it was)
‘P.S. Another letter to follow.’
I made her post it that same afternoon
And next morning I posted the letterbomb.
The sorting office was out of action for several days
And my wife arrested the following Monday.
But now, thankfully, everything is back to normal.