Hey Mister Snowplowman, why did you destroy my mailbox?
It was a perfect morning until you came along. A day off from work, sitting around in warm fleeces, reading good books and drinking cappuccino.
The snow was beautiful as it softly fell. But then you came along, Mister Snowplowman. You mixed those gentle flakes with gravel, salt and sand, then vomited them forth in a violent, icy spew.
My mailbox stood so proudly — center sentinel in a line of three. Why did you frag just my mailbox, Mister Snowplowman? Why did you bend it cruelly? Why did you kill the prettiest of the three?
Now I must buy a new mailbox. Now I must haul out my tools in the middle of winter. Thanks to you, Mister Snowplowman, the neighbors will laugh when they see me screwing in the street.
I’d send a letter, if only I could, and I’d keep it short and sweet: “Fuck you, Mister Snowplowman!”