There is many
a living thing
That doesn’t love
a wall.
Like hunters, rabbits
and yelping dogs
Like the pine trees
and apple orchards
Like human beings--
Who aren’t cows--
And quirky elves don’t
like them much either.
The frozen-ground-
swells beneath can crack
Even the strongest stone.
And there are too many gaps
Between the stones
nonetheless. You can
Rub your fingers rough
and raw by placing
and replacing
The fallen stones.
Mr. President:
I see you walking in the darkness.
An old rough savage-stone
Firmly grasped in each
armed hand.
Like an aged hypothermic man
who is lost
and cannot find his way
Like your crotchety, stubborn
neighbor beyond the hill.
Mr. President:
Spring is coming.
Let’s walk the lines,
Remove the walls
separating pines
and trees bearing fruit.
Mr. President:
Forget your father
He was so very wrong.
Good walls, like selfish men,
make bad neighbours.
© Gil Hoy
Gil is a Boston poet and trial lawyer who is studying poetry at Boston University through its Evergreen program. Hoy received a B.A. in Philosophy and Political Science from Boston University, an M.A. in Government from Georgetown University, and a J.D. from the University of Virginia School of Law. He served as a Brookline, Massachusetts Selectman for four terms. Hoy’s poetry has appeared, most recently, in Ariel Chart, The Penmen Review, Right Hand Pointing/One Sentence Poems, The New Verse News and Clark Street Review.
