Beyond our fence of wood,
an orange dog hurls itself
from the back porch into the yard.
In these hard
covid times, the breath of life thickens
beyond our wooden
deck chair. What’s the good
of fences? I ask, walking across
the back porch, one foot into the yard.
Only a matter of minutes until I start
playing my mandolin again
(ribs of maple wood).
Kind of a fixture in my neighborhood,
traipsing the sidewalks—geriatric elf—
past thousands of planted yards;
expecting a vicious year ahead,
waiting to find out what will be taken
from those outside our fence of wood,
with their own back yards and fences.
