The days when pen-pals was a thing,
no texts, emojis, or Instagram,
instead, we just put pen to paper
folded it, affixed a stamp,
put it in the village postbox
underneath the corner lamp.
Sometimes a letter to Francois,
or Ramesh in Lahore,
to Chuck in Massachusetts,
or Nour in Singapore,
sometimes a thousand miles away,
or just the girl next door.
Those airmail letter forms,
(I think called aerogramme)
with edges needing licking,
they had a rubbery taste,
and lots of spidery writing,
to fill up all the space.
Then the days the postman came
and said I have for you,
letters from a foreign land,
not just one - but two,
one from West Australia,
and one from Timbuktu.
We never, ever met them,
but they were our best friends,
so we thought then, at the time,
that childhood never ends.
Now I've a thousand followers
on WhatsApp and Facebook
how many messages today -
hold on, I'll have a look.