Tuesday, December 30, 2014


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The Whitewash Fence,
A Poem About Generations

Like papa's bear hug
One hundred boards
Stood guard
On their little kingdom.
Mom held them
While Dad hammered.
Whitewash paint like thin ink
Became a journal in sunlight
Saying without words,
Here is our place,
You may enter-
Or you may not.
The fence once held in
A garden
Of daisies, pansies,
Kids and puppies;
And held out
The neighbor's stray dog.
The old fence
Wraps like grandpa's
Shaky embrace
To sway
Like a carnival ride,
Nail rust streaks
Give notice
The kids are gone,
The carpenters moved,
And the weeds remain.

The whitewash fence

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(c) Adron Dozat 2015

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