The mailbox has issues. Suspended unnaturally, it sways silently with the arrival of news, like some broken-hinged ghost town door, quietly surveying what is no longer there.
The landscape, though still brown, is shrugging off winter. The mailbox just shrugs, as it sits, replanted on its metal poles, next to the broken post that once held it firm. Mailboxes are not transient, but this one is, waiting for a solid stake that will give anchor. Never meant for the dance, the mailbox has issues.
Next to the mailbox, the jagged post is broken at ground level, protruding slightly, but plunged like some ugly knife, deep.
I could fetch the husband of the Very Apologetic Driver, but I will not. I have issues.
Excavated almost a foot down around the post, the ground is compacted, dry, frozen untouchable memory. Unfriendly and unwilling, the post has staying power with no intention of vacating the premises.
We’ll see.
Shouldn't...but Do 
No fears, Neighbor….the post WILL vacate the premises!!