Jumping Fences

One of the first pieces I ever wrote ...

The Post


The fence was askew enough to tempt the strong

to push it right or tear it down,
While endurance spoke of sun and driving sand

and long blights of desert frost.

Three rusting wires remained on the right and left

to offer a choice of passage,
Or to bar the way completely through thought

of risk or some other hidden fear.

One strand swooped low to mix with sandy weeds

and crawling was not allowed,
And many had walked the long way ‘round

and had missed out on hidden flowers.

The firm middle line could be jumped of course,

but only yards and years away,
Though I admit the risk might have appeared less

from a different point of view.

The top strand sagged quite a bit

and crossing required help from the graying post,

and a young man would never have suffered

the jeers or loss of adventure here.

But now I love the feel of that course stump

in my palm that pushes back at me.
For it allows my foot to press down on the barbs

and stretch out my hand to you.