There was the fence around our house,
which bordered my elementary school.
You could climb a big tree – I don’t know what kind –
and look out across the expanse of the front lawn
of Teresa Bunker Elementary
to see if there were kids at the play structure in back.
That view, Don, must be like what you imagine
when you consider your own vista from the oval.
An ordered world of mostly play and idleness.
Free from thoughts of critique and self-awareness.
It may be the last time I needed that sort of separation,
them and us, ours and theirs, the forum and the home.
Or maybe, like all boys, the fence remains in surprising ways.
To yearn for walls is no surprise when you’re a grifter.
Trimp Tromp Trump 