the old lamppost

for many years at the curb

in front of our house on main street

there used to be a large, rusty-repainted,

decorative, cast-iron street lamp

that i clipped grass around during summer,

raked dry leaves around in the fall;

the pole was dark, the paint was dull,

the light from the lamp was dim;

and you know, now and then

on some quiet, still evenings

when the windows were open i'd hear

a car stop, then a bang, and someone swore

when they opened their door on the lamppost.