Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.
Mending Wall, Robert Frost
An old three-foot chain fence
was up long before we moved in.
To play in the yard you must stay
within, I’d explain—
though I dislike fences,
they limit the children’s range.
When they learned of my two children,
the disgruntled old couple came out,
attached a makeshift fence
from a stack of splintered
staves to the existing wire fence—
nearly three feet higher
with sharp rusty nails protruding.
One day, Benjamin inadvertently threw
a ball, intended for Rebecca,
over the fence–I was watching.
Out came the frail old lady,
angrily standing by the fence,
with a cold stare at the children—
thrust her middle finger!
By Curt Robbins