Dickie McGrubber and Bugger Daley were a rank pair of troglobytes,

tilting the world a bit for every preacher setting the world to rights.

Bugger sat daily behind his fence of wood and would have moved if he could

but grinned the role of playing fence for a motley thief giving offense

to the law and order of things.

Dickie pulled a quickie every other night

in the burbs of those with power and might

leaving their insurers to fend for themselves

and never lost sleep over what he couldn’t keep

for Bugger paid him well on items that he pinched

and loaned him extra here and there

to keep him running everywhere.

They shared a meal on weekends at Bugger’s backyard table

seated like bookends holding up the board

paid for with their steaming stolen horde.

Dickie ran habitually anguished

but Bugger he indifferently languished

like a foppish pug in his rank little sty

for, as he would often say,

a man’s home is his fortress.