I never oil my front gate
because I enjoy her opinions
that morning groan as I retrieve the paper
a quick snicker if I’m catching a ride
if I’ve forgotten why I’ve come out
she teases with tiny whoops
her form of down-scaled mockery
when it rains like us her thoughts
gather and together stare at the gray
impatiently holding a long sigh
late afternoon the mail truck
rumbles to a stop I open the front door
enter a post-nasal cloud pull her roped
metal handle head to my box
to anyone within earshot
her silence says it all
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