I'll be my own Pen Pal

 

I’m not in the bleachers hoping we win.

or crouched in some alley, with my last bit of gin.

I’m not at the racetrack, placing a bet, or up at the bow, in the spray getting wet.

I’m here in the mailbox, where it’s lonely and dark

With just enough postage, to go once round the park.

I’ve mailed off my thoughts, for a fresh bit of air,

Shake out the wrinkles, put a comb through my hair

So when they get back, my outlook will change

I’ll read what I wrote, even though it sounds strange.

Then I’ll write a response, starting with DEAR

and end it of course, with wish you were here.