Fences

Another of a series of poems I wrote 10 years ago.

Fences




Ghost white eyes stare from coal black faces,

behind chain link barb wire, trucks go in and trucks go out.

This is the face of employment, and I hope I never,

reach the other side of that fence.

It is not pride that keeps me from crossing that line,

but white-knuckled fear.

I fear that fence more than I fear disease and death,

because I know disease,

and disease holds out for the cure,

while death allows for rest.

What lies behind the fence,

is a lifetime of meaningless hours

spent pretending to be concerned,

but concern is for those

who have given up

and know nothing of living without regret.