FENCES

Augur corkscrewed through topsoil

The color of Grand Marnier, bored

Deeper into rich liquor where oak posts

Creosoted against rot were set

And tamped. Four boards properly

Nailed on the obverse side. Squared

And braced corners. Sixteen foot

Pole gates hung.

Seeded in a mix of timothy and clover,

A cover crop of oats to shade growth,

They surveyed their toil, the horses

Thundered off the van and heads down

Divined the ritual of grazing.

Fenced and crossfenced, pastures switched

To rest and recover. Trodden dirt

By the stock tank graveled. Loose boards

Shored up. For years, side by side,

Pounding nails, repairing ravages of cribbers,

Leaners, butt rubbers, kickers,

Foals that slid under, racers that crashed

Or sailed. Those fences sturdy as biceps

As homespun hearts, as presumed vigor.

After she went into the home and the horses

Were auctioned, he stood squarely

On his porch as if the loose

Skin of his jowls and upper arms

And the way his overalls hung

From his bones as if he’d become

Insubstantial were simply a figment

And the shadow he cast would cease

To lengthen like a runaway colt

Getting away from him and watched

The fences, post and rail,

Come down.

Chiron Review