The charge at the new post office.
Cars to the right of them,
Cars to the left of them,
Cars in front and behind them,
Through the narrow access into
The Valley of the new post office,
Boldly rode the patrons.
Forward and onward was the cry,
Eagerly anticipating plentiful parking,
Did someone blunder, oh my,
But they’re not to make reply,
They’re not to reason why,
They’re but to do and try.
It was a wild charge they made,
Across the blacktop newly laid,
Until a voice did loudly yell,
“There’s a fender-bender, can’t you tell?”
It was then the survivors clearly knew,
They were close to the fiery mouth of hell.
With apologies to poet Alfred Lord Tennyson, author of the Charge of the Light Brigade.
Hal Shymkus
Española