Rigid shadows weave a net
That sweeps across the hillside
Insects countless and invisible
Move freely, unperturbed
Not even aware they’re
Supposed to be trapped
Just below eye level the weary wire hangs
Rust made noble in the setting sun
Patiently waiting for time to have its way
It has been patient for a long time already
And it is equally unaware that the city
(Just above it, from my perspective standing here)
Grows and grows in the valley beyond
Haze and muted sound, muted light
Have transformed it into a painted backdrop
No sign at all of millions of lives
Does the fence make the view or does the view make the fence? Stupid.
Suddenly, a shout
And a small red truck drives by
Bed heavy laden with six pudgy boys
One, also red, lifts his hands in triumph
This is freedom