Such a long time between letters,
I garroted three mailmen.
Now it’s all about email.
When the missives don’t pop into my box,
whose knuckles do I smash?
If the voice intones, “You have mail”
and it’s only spam,
who is the intermediary
that needs their head scalped,
their liver removed?
Is there a programmer somewhere
in the world
who should be ingesting my poison?
I’m weary of those who
are just doing their job.
From now on, I will shoot every messenger
who comes within firing range.
If people I know won’t take the time.
then strangers must suffer the consequences.
I can’t get at those who neglect me.
And I need to take it out on someone.
Of course, there’s always myself.