The Maildog and the Man

The maildog stands at the fence

Holding a bill
From National Insurance

The man sits in the yard

Picking at a bone

With his two front teeth

Tugging at the last bit of meat

Before he’ll bury it

Somewhere near the dead oak

The maildog hates this stop

His last of the day

Of everyday

Today it’s the last task

Before a long weekend

Where he and his wife

Can check themselves

Into a nice kennel

And let someone else worry

About baths and meals for a change

The man is wearing only red boxers

But for some reason

Red lipstick as well

It’s a provocation

It’s all a provocation

Designed to get the dog to snap

And bite the man

And there goes his retirement

His benefits

His medical coverage

No more bills waiting for him

From National Insurance

Or anywhere else

The man knows this

And he delights in it

He hates the maildog

And the maildog knows it

Even if it’s an unspoken

Animosity

It’s that time of year

When the sun sinks

Into the low, low sky

Like a woman

Wading into a pool

For the first time in years

It holds up the greyish blue

And tries to stay awake

For longer

Than it should

The maildog should throw the mail

Right over the fence

Onto the grass

And walk away proudly

Knowing that while the task

Was not done properly

It was

Still

Done

But the maildog is proud

And does not throw

Throwing is for newspaper dogs

And he--he--is a maildog

He has his dignity

The man scratches

Behind his ear

And sneezes in a way

That shakes his whole body

The maildog notices

The man’s ungainly figure

As though he’s made of nothing

But red rubber balls

In a pale white blow-up body

That no one could love

Or desire

The man stretches

And whimpers

As he pretends to fall asleep

But both he and the maildog know

He’ll never really be asleep

As soon as the maildog

Steps foot into that yard

The man will be on him

With an aggression

Born out of a centuries old

Understanding

That some things

Can never

Ever

Be easy

The maildog holds out the envelope

As if daring the man

To come get it himself

To step out onto

The maildog’s part of the fence

And even the playing field a bit

But both know

That is not

How things

Are supposed to go

And so the man does not move

And the maildog does not blink

And both wait for the sun

To let down the sky

So something can happen

That could never happen

In the light