Clare Dollard on Lower Cecil Street outside the G.P.O.
G. P. O.
Greatly Pissed Off queuing
Seeking service- express.
The parcel is not for you,
And there’s no forwarding address.
Greeted Politely On entry.
Your query, dealt with – quick.
‘It’s a self-adhesive stamp,’ says the clerk
As your tongue protrudes, to lick.
Greying Pensioners Orbit
Around tasslled green ropes as they wait
For the meagre sum they receive
From the powers that be in our state.
Gratitude Pours Out from the few
that won on the Lotto.
Their supplications finally answered
After hours of prayer at that Grotto.
Generations Posted Onwards
By boat or perhaps air mail.
The kids of the Noughties believe
All deliveries are made by a snail.
– Clare Dollard