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.