2016/fence

Here I stay inside the
picket fence,
lacking the sanctuary of the white dress
the studio I always longed for
down the back path at last.
The same quiet life
I’ve always lived, but
with more noise around me.
Loud Mexican music in
passing cars,
extra loud trucks, roar me
awake at night
my neighbor’s odd hours
clanking in and out the metal
gate outside the bedroom window,
her partner who brings in
trash cans, 1:30 a.m.
or cleans out his truck
at midnight.

3/11/16