I’m doing well, I’m nearly done,
An early night at last?
I’m almost sorted… then
The emails come in thick and fast.
Not one of them can be ignored,
None can be left for later…
And by the thirteenth missive
I’ve become an email hater.
For nowadays, my email
Will supply its own suggestions
With phrases I would never choose
In answer to your questions.
They’re peppered with superlatives
And exclamation marks…
Who does it think it’s writing for?
I’m truly in the dark.
I’m not an anti-literate
Who will not write because my eyes
Are glued to iPhone screen.
I play with words, I like them,
They’re a long-term love affair.
Nor am I anti-social
Wishing friends would ‘go elsewhere’.
But must they be like buses,
Sending emails all at once?
Though, when it comes to answering,
Let’s face it, I’m the dunce…
Why do I feel obliged to be
At email’s beck and call?
Why can’t I wait to answer them?
Or not read them at all?
Technology has taught us
That would just be impolite…
And so we dash to answer,
Even when its late at night.
I once assumed technology
Was there to make life easy…
Instead we sit there typing
Till we’re half asleep and queasy.
I think with fondness of the days
When letters came by mail…
Replies were deemed acceptable
Delivered via snail.
You had the time then to compose
A well considered note,
Instead of dashing to reply
With phrases learned by rote.
The well-crafted epistle,
With its phrasing clean and polished,
A pleasure that came through the post
By email was demolished.
What treasures of posterity
Will our descendants find?
What faded sheaves of history
Will email leave behind?
Technology is quicker,
But the pen once did it better…
There’s something there to treasure
With a real, handwritten letter.
It’s midnight now, I’ve had enough,
I’m giving up the ghost;
I’m answering no more tonight
Unless they come by post.