by Edgar Allan Poe’s less-talented brother Elwood

Once upon a midday happy, I awoke from noontime nappy
Rousing from my squishy armchair as I had begun to snore
Suddenly I heard a binging, a soft electronic dinging
As if a bell had been ringing, ringing from my email store
“Tis some email” lo I muttered, “dinging from my email store –
Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the soft December
And each org where I was a member had its claim upon this score.
Eagerly they staked their claim, barely knowing e’en my name
Nearly looking all the same, the same within my email store
Then the postman slid a bunch of papers through the slot upon my door
Landing on my hallway floor.

Missives from these selfsame causes, purportedly to give one pauses
And show those in some dire straits in circumstances I deplore.
Happy I to show humaneness, but I found myself to be nameless
In all the standard sameness that turned my emails into a bore.
“I stand in favor of those of means giving selfless alms to the poor.
But there must be something more.”

“Most these emails say in bold my gift will double or even threefold
Multiply, but only if I give when, where, and how they ask for.
But these orgs have been a sieve recalling why and how I give
I’m not an ATM to live simply to give without rapport.”
Those messages that did not show my impact went to virtual drawer
I may see them nevermore.

Then presently there came a tone; I cried “Throw me a friggin’ bone!
I do not like to use the phone; clearly my desires you ignore!”
But I can’t stand to hear it tolling, so picked it up and heard cajoling
And another voice extolling the virtue of giving so much more.
“Take my name from off thy list and get off my line!” I swore
Telemarketers I abhor.

Returning to the paper letters, some causes seemed to be forgetters.
And they treated us like debtors even though I’d given of five score.
Some marketer must thought it cunning to send letters that are dunning
I found the hubris simply stunning; consigned them to the fireplace floor
“SECOND NOTICE” got no second; this technique I do not care for
Cease it please I do implore.

“I think the minimum you owe me is for you to slightly know me
And in your dispatches maybe show me, show me why I should encore.
Perhaps e’en magnanimity; this current anonymity
Damages equanimity and contributes to this eyesore.”
More dinging broke my meditation and more paper came to the floor
This I will not stand for.

But there was one who knew my name; they knew my story and my aim
That set my dopamine aflame. This charity I’m there for.
They do not set off to blend in, but are color ‘mong the penguin
I grabbed my card and went to send in a gift to show that I adore
The ones who treat me like a person are the orgs that I care for
And the others, never more.