The Fence Goes On
Sonitus Randt

Sometimes I take a train from here to there,
And imagine I’ll do anything but look
Out the window the whole time.

I never get bored though, no matter if
All that’s out there, rushing past, is a fence
That runs for miles.

I watch the fence posts evolving;
Their slightly different heights,
The barbed wire twisted up and down by what?

And here’s a gate. A sign. “No trespassing”.
That means somebody might,
Somebody I will surely never meet,

And, maybe, that’s his house that just went by,
Or the house of the owner of the land.
A rusted tractor next. When did it last start up?

The fence devolves. We’re coming to a town.
The train track parallels a roadway now.
I look down into cars, into lives.

One driver talking on a phone. The car behind
Has parents and their kids.
One kid looks up at me. I smile, he waves.

Perhaps they’re on vacation, seeing sights
Like canyons, waterfalls, and parks and things.
The track and road divide. Back to the fence.

It’s like a friend. Consistent in its way,
Yet changing subtly from day to day.
I feel I could watch it forever, the posts like days

Flying by, barely glimpsed sometimes.
I can never take it all in, and I wish I could.
Sometimes, there is a definite end, or, at least, a corner,

And it disappears for a bit, and I miss it then.
It provides a contrast to the grass and trees.
A sign of human action. “We’ve been here

And left a monument to us to tell how we enclose
To understand, to limit things enough to comprehend.”
And soon the fence is back. And there’s a safety in it,

A comfort. We are not alone, but are connected
Like these posts, the miles like years, and we can
Reel them in with stories and with poems, with any words.

And the train stops, and I get off, and the fence goes on.