Frankly, I never understood the art of the frank.
Thought it might be just some silly prank.
But it was designed to help citizen servants,
afray the high cost of reaching constituents.
So they could just, "reach out and touch."
Without having to pay, oh, so very much.
But the times, they are a changing, and so is the scene.
Our citizen servants are getting rich, if you know what I mean.
Mail is shifting, from physical to digital.
The cost of the digital, a fraction of the physical.
The Post Office is chasing the Pony Express,
its packages now shipped through the UPS.
But what will become of Sir Lance Armstrong,
his sponsor is denying, but we knew all along.
So franking, a privilege, is now being abused.
So why am I, so suddenly, feeling dirty and used?
Could it be those X-rated tapes sent through the mail?
Could it be those pictures she sent of her tail?
Could it be those sext you forgot to erase?
Could it be those little boys they can still trace?
Frankly, Barney I don't care about your orientation,
but I do care what you're doing to our great nation.
I'm now getting e-mail from some Randy Paul,
I am not even his constituent, not at all.
So why am I getting his stuff from Kentucky?
It's free, that's why; he can take a flying f**ky!
To avoid going Postal, I'll end this tale,
but don't you dare send me any more junk mail!
Image Courtesy MontyMinute.com
If I might speak frankly, this one came in a dream again.
I had to change the whole poem when I discovered what
the word really meant. Here is the nonsense that followed
Copyright 2012 © Ronald W. Hull