When you first got your job at the Post Office
I was posting a letter to my sister at college
Our eyes met over liquorice and newspaper
And I watched your name on your shirt- Miss Winter.
I remember wishing we’d left the world together
Wrapped up in a parcel among other letters
Of silly bills and “thank-you” notes upon
“Please do come again soon..”
And
“No, I most certainly won’t.”
Contracts and birthdays, exam results
Eviction notices, postcards and doctor’s notes-
And us-
like a small boat
could drift away
and think about making a home one day.
But we didn’t- obviously.
From then on I remember thinking just how much I liked letters
And that stamps were an excellent invention.
So I would come in to “post” more often
Just in hope of gaining your affection.
Browsing over the fisherman’s weekly
Or commenting on how the floorboards were squeaky-
And you. So fresh and pretty, would just sit and smile sweetly
And believe you were invisible for all to see
Even though you were a lighthouse to me.
It’s funny that they say patience is a virtue
As there have been too many times when this has failed to be true.
But it’s my birthday next Tuesday- I’ll be seventy-two.
Little Miss Winter, I have you see-
Been waiting for you since I was seventeen.

Am I too late for you?