Our Country Fence

My front yard chain linked fence,

The handle that rarely comes down

Is seen from the dirt easement

Of our redwood-paneled house.

The grey wall keeps our dogs from going out

The strays, and coyotes from coming in,

Makes our house look residential.


The concrete, and boulder embedded wall

Just outside our living room screen door

Holds the hills embankment up so

Ice plant, bottlebrush, and yuccas can

Keep ground during winter rains, while

Sucking septic spills from our family

Of seven’s leach lines, but never all of it.


Rusty barbed wire wrapped

Twice around each red painted metal post

Lining the south yard behind fruitless

Grape bushes.  Four taut lines across

And a fifth un-barbed, electrified line

Keep the Jackson’s cows from crossing,

Our football games bloody with cussing.


Tarred railroad ties, buried as posts,

Then hulled for fitting four by eight boards,

Hold the Kinley’s horses, some chickens in and,

Mr. Kinley, his lasso, and my father’s weight

While they decide what to plant, when to harvest,

What to raise, when to slaughter, the setting

Sun keeps their eyes from staring straight.


Used haywire wrapped around old pallets,

Tied side by side to square off space

For the pigs to roll in their shit,

To shield the sun from their pink skin.

They scratch against each splintered board,

Sometimes gnaw a sliver off but

Never get out, until their dying day.

About Tony DiAngelis

I am a writer and educator who wants to share my creativity in a global medium. Please savor the pieces you enjoy, voice your thoughts, and share this work with others in hopes that they may find inspiration to reconnect with their creative selves.
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