Category: Poems

The epitome, one day, of speed,
It’s now a slowly plodding steed.
While airplanes change from gas to jet,
This oldster barely crawls as yet.
Letters from New York to Phillie
Go round about, or willy-nilly.
Glad tidings, or those of disaster–
You could walk them there much faster,
And nothing makes me boil and fry
Like valentines in mid-July.
“Neither snow nor rain nor gloom”
Is shoved aside to leave us room
For Donaldson’s new motto clever:
“Surely better late than never.”
But what gets through, and on time too?
The circular with postage-due!

by Ray Romine Wednesday, March 12, 1952

Five of us are in 1-A:
More are soon to be;
Why none of us, though, seems to care
Might seem a mystery.

All are married; all have kids;
Wives, too, whom we love;
Christmas coming–seems a shame
To have to off-ward shove.

Clerks and carriers, though, they know:
Why we aren’t warmish:
Beside our s.nnual Christmas rush
Induction’s but a skirmish!

Japs and Germans they may charge,
Bombs may fall and scatter–
But we’ve been through the Christmas mess,
And trifles are no matter.

This, of course, is far from true.
We wanta stay: you’ve hit it!
We’re scared as heck from feet to neck,
BUT WE ‘RE DANGED IF WE’RE GONNA ADMIT IT!

by Ray Romine Friday, November 26, 1943

This definition fits the duffer:
A uniformed waste-basket stuffer.

by Ray Romine Saturday, September 23, 1950

No fancy feats;
No bands; no blurbs-
He crosses streets an
And steps off curbs;

Through rains and fogs
He’s super-Hades;
Ile fights off dogs
And irate ladies;

Sweat or zero,
Your mail is carried-
Yet he’s no hero ,
Alive or buried.

by Ray Romine Friday, September 23, 1949

We’ve instant coffee, instant tea,
Soaps that suds up instantly;
Planes are streamlined, faster, stronger–
But the mail takes a little longer.

We’ve this that’s quicker, that and those;
Press a button, wash the clothes.
Some things progress; but, in arrears,
The mail goes hack a hundred years.

We laugh at, and we make a spectacle
Of anything that’s unelectrical;
And now, thanks to our wizards sage,
We ‘re edging the atomic age.
The world may move; the PO stays
The good old horse and buggy days….

by Ray Romine Saturday, March 29, 1952

Despite cuts, you
Who look will find
Mail still gets through
(A week behind) .

by Ray Romine Tuesday, November 14, 1950

In spite of cuts
And “Who’s to blame?”
One thing at least
Remains the same.

I go to the box,
I lift the lid,
And find the junk
I always did.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, June 13, 1950