Unexpected

She didn’t have to. Everyone says
the young no longer write, that thank-yous
are old hat. Texts if you’re lucky, but
don’t hold your breath. These days,
what d’you expect? Don’t ask.
Another winter morning, thick and grey.

A pink and cheeky envelope blinks on the mat.
My name, careful in wobbling biro
and, inside, lurching careful thanks, and
in her hand; effort and concentration clenched
and no mistakes. She didn’t have to
but she did. A shyly hopeful sun breaks through.


D.A. Prince

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  D.A. Prince would be pleased to hear them