That’s all I’ve got to say about the dog poo truck

That’s all I’ve got say about the dog poo truck

to her at the Council
whose walls remain intact
whose bricks won’t let in snow
now that a capstone’s been knocked off and gate pier sliced in two.
It’s not as though I’ve even got a dog.

To be fair, there’ve been fewer pokings of sticks at the crevices
and treads in my boots. There’d be fewer still if the truck
wasn’t biannual.

The only bricklayer to turn up asked
Why not settle
for a wider gateway?
Bloody hell, how bad a driver does he think I am.
Bloody hell, he’s made me take up swearing.
He didn’t even submit a quote. Scrote.

I sent her at the council a haiku

struck by a dog poo
truck twenty one weeks ago
tomorrow. Sorrow.

I’ve heard nothing since then.
I think only one of us
is laughing.