Greedy Postal Worker

by Easter Cathay

THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day;
I linger by my mailbox all forlorn.
The postman onward plods his weary way,
I expected letters full of cash this morn.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
What is this shit? My mail is not yet here!
I need the dough for beer and pizza tonight.
Hey, Mr. Postman; a word in your ear:

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Wrapt 'round $1 bills. Rich with the spoil,
Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage.

Stationery did insufficient th' lucre obscure;
''Damaged in Processing,'' my fuckin' ass; I'm poor!

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