Ode to a Cyclone Fence


Pigeons are perched atop your silver prongs
Preparing to fly or gaze or sleep.
Those tiny daggers used to prick our palms--
We thought we could scale you unscathed.
The boys got a running start and hit your silver sheet at full force.
Sounding like airborne loose change,
You shimmered in the sunlight.
You glowed in the lamplight.
Stretching and yawning, the posts held you while you held us.
Ascending climbers escaped the enemy:
A dog, someone's mom, a dad's whistles.
PF Flyers, small-sized and common,
Fit perfectly into each diamond link.
Petit hands grasped the sterling wires--climbing higher and higher
Up and over
Into an unsuspecting yard.

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