MAILMAN'S BLUES.

A MAILMAN AND HIS COFFEE OFFERING WOMAN.

Every time you walk up
The drive to deliver mail at

Mrs Milbank’s house she
Opens the door quite suddenly

And says, Mailman, would you
Like to come in for a coffee?

I have cappuccino, black,
White, Turkish, French or

Colombian? But you say,
Sorry Mrs Milbank, I really

Must get on with my run, people
Will be waiting for their mail,

And I’ll have the supervisor on
My back if they moan or complain.

I have tea if you prefer, she adds,
Putting out a leg in the slit in her

Green flowered dress. I have Indian,
Chinese or any other name you can

Say, I’m a one for teas, you can ask
My husband, only he’s away on big

Business, but you can still come in
And have a cookie with tea or coffee.

No, I’m sorry Mrs Milbank, I really
Must get going, the mail is heavy

Today and there’s lots of it and if
I stop I’ll get complaints and that

Isn’t good. I’ll have the fat supervisor
On my a*s wanting to know where

I’ve been. You can have a beer if you
Prefer, Mailman, I have all kinds

From most countries, including
Budweiser and it comes straight

From the cooler and will quench
Your thirst and you must have a

Thirst after your long haul. She
Pushes her hand up her thigh

Revealing more stocking covered
Flesh, looks at you with her fine

Blue eyes and breaks open a smile
Like a 20-year-old malt whisky.

You hand her the mail, taking
In her red painted fingernails,

The opened up neckline. Maybe,
Just a small coffee, you say, with

A few cookies thrown in for good
Measure. And you follow her into

Her house, gazing at her neat a*s
As she goes before you, wondering

If Santa Claus is coming earlier this
Year, and smelling her perfume, and

The way she moves, her high heels going
Clickety click on the floor and she

Offering coffee and cookies, and maybe,
If you were a bad boy, something more.