On my lunch time walk,
I stop at Sam’s for the low down on fences.
Son of Sam, actually,
my old landlord who had his hands
on buildings all over town.
The son carries on the tradition,
and his fences are not low-down
at all, but ten feet up,
exceeding the legal limit.
A man after my own heart.
He confuses me with hedges,
plants substituting for fences.
Acacia, but not the kind I like,
something called fire bush.
I’ve always hated hedges,
I prefer my plants roaming free.
But cedar is $4 a board.
I think I need an alternative.
Sam’s son buys places and fixes
them up, with salvaged wood
and good Mexican gates that give
the place character.
An interesting chair against
the fence. Props, really.
But nicely done.
He landscapes well
and things grow up fast,
looking settled, and saleable.
While light years later I sit
here, still trying to figure
out a fence.
On my way back home,
someone is playing the fiddle
with the door open,
at the Scotsmen’s house.
That’s the thing of it,
there are so many things to do
besides put up fences.