The mango tree, on the north side lot,
blocked my neighbors' view of our mailbox.
A gal next door and one beyond,
Had a bet that seemed to drag on and on.
Our mailman was a lady but they couldn't see,
And nobody knew if she was he or she,
That is, no one knew for sure, cept me.
Then one day a package came,
It needed my signature, it needed my name.
Off the seat and into my drive,
walked the mailman with the package that arrived.
The girl next door won the bet they had,
For she was right and the one to believe,
The mailman was a lady, she wasn't a he.



Four words: escape, male, washboard, yard