Category: Postman

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

In a recent reature of the Centennial Celebration in Kansas City, Mo., it was proven that modern mail service is slower than the Pony Express (Postal Record)

If you want it after you’re a ghost,
Have it sent by parcel post.

You’d wait to know each other better?
Then pay your court by means of letter.

And if your friends like their news stale,
By all means, use the U.S. mail!

by Ray Romine Friday, July 28, 1950

Dear Earl:· We’ve studied, fussed and tried
To think up some thing clever
To let you know that still and all
We’re thinking of you ever.

But, after all, we’re just a lot
Of ordinary fellows
Who don’t get much pest usual run
Of “hi’s”, “goodbyes”, and “hello’s”.

So, if we’re inarticulate–
(No “Merry Christmas” to it)–
We’ll put our names down here below,
AND THAT’LL HAVE TO DO ITll

by Ray Romine Saturday, October 31, 1942

Dear POD:
Change back, or we
Shall face complete disaster:
The checks we ought
Receive are naught;
The statements, though, come faster.

YOU know, Department, what fate greets
Whose paid-outs swamp their cash receipts?

by Ray Romine Wednesday, July 11, 1951

With Apologies to Dud Fisher, from whom the idea
(albeit concerning artists), and verse-form were “stolen”..

A mailman’s life is a life ot ease,
With his days a continual song.
We’ll give you an inkling of what it’s like;
Just shout if you think we’re wrong.

Now we’re set for life on this job, and they
Cannot can us no matter what–
We just stick our tongue in the P.M. ‘s face,
And invite him to sit and rot.

Sure, the pay’s superb and the hours are short
As a banker’s, Just about;
As a rule we see him a-heading for lunch
When we’re through and all rung out.

But the easy ,way that we earn our dough
Is the sweetest part of all– ,
Bend an ear: we’ll take you around a day
That’s a crime we’re paid for at all:

To be sure, a beautiful day in spring
Is the kind we’ll choose, for when
It is rainy or cold or just ornery out
We have subs who take it then.

After ringing in around 8 or 9
We can read, play cards, or knit,
While the clerks sort mail and tie it out
So we can deliver it!

Then we take our sack and we saunter out,
And we whistle a tune the while,
And we nod and bow at the pretty girls
Who give us the eye, and smile.

So between the times when we stop and talk–
Or we loaf at Gene’s or Al’s–
(We might have a coke at Harry’s place,
Or a piece of pie at Sal’s)–

We drop a letter in a box or two…
What’s that about parcel post?
Oh, the freight, the junk, and the magazines,
They’re trucked, from coast to coast.

Yes, of course, there’s Christmas, Election times,
Easter, and count & weigh;
But we stack the letters and leave ’em set–
For there’s always another day.

Now the dogs won’t bite us, but even if’
One forgets and grabs jus’t in fun–
What’s a little thing like a leg to us?
We ean still do this with just onel

And when we trot home after work is through
Just a-rarin’, we surmise
If the family wants us to step, O.K.–
What’s a little exercise??

Now of course this isn’t quite all the truth,
And we know we shouldn’t mislead;
But it sounds, this way, like a scad of fun,
And it’s what YOU THINK, you’ll concede!

by Ray Romine Monday, January 1, 1940

Here’s to the people who handle the mail-
We’ve no Johnsons or Jones, but still have a Fail.
Two Romines related as father and son
Who look not alike, but sticketh as one,
We also have Cole, but not by the ton.
Also, two Laymans; a father and son.
A Heinz who carries letters; and also the nane
Of the 57 varieties like the pickles of fame.
We too have a Goff who works with a song,
And a nice “little” fellow by the nane of E. Long,
A Bechtle; a Corbin, a Hosey, none tall-
But we have a slim Miller with stature for all.
I almost forgot our big boy Dillinger,
And Miss Stull who says the work’s killinger.
A Roby, a James, a Smith and a Fetter-
And a Ladies’ man Smithson who ought to know better.
A Myers and a Canp, fighting in heat and cold
For us other codgers who are getting too old.
Also,a Gandee, who crosses many a lawn,
And often takes a bath with his overshoes on.
Now, last but not least, we have a Dale Schwaderer,
But the first of December you’ll have no more Sautter-er

Cloyd Nelson Sautter.
Nov. 16, 1943.
.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, November 16, 1943

I have a little Postman
Who, it’s a shame to say,
Comes along with Friday’s mail
On a Saturday.

The mail is dependable;
But what that really means
Is that this month you’re sure of
Last month’s magazines.

That package which I ordered
Via Parcel- post–
Can it be joy-riding ,
Shuttled coast to coast?

With the mail I want so overdue–
How do the Little Bills get through??

by Ray Romine Monday, September 15, 1947

Our postman was once full of whistles,
But I note he’s beginning to lag.
When the Big Brass began throwing missiles,
Guess who was left holding the bag?

by Ray Romine Tuesday, May 16, 1950

How happily the Postman smiles–
He seems a man of no care;
He walks so doggoned many miles
And goes exactly nowhere!

by Ray Romine Friday, September 27, 1946

Although I may imagine it,
To me his whistle trills
Its gayest when my postman
Is dropping me off bills.

I hope it’s not vindictive
For me to wish, with vim,
I were the grinning postal-clerk
Who hands his bills to him!

by Ray Romine Wednesday, April 11, 1951