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Beyond the Black Fence
By Sy Roth

The land lay fallow 
Beyond the black fence.
Growth once dressed in a white blanket of hoar in winter landscapes 
Lush in summer months
Deer speckled backdrop 
Munched all day behind a scrim of lush camouflage 
And black birds rested on the scrub 
Coupled with the land and each other
A fornucopia of perpetuation.

But like time
It marched in to war on its own turf--
The cranes, yellow tractor-footed creatures
Tore at the soil and formed mountains of dirt
That wild (plants?) draped over
And the long-necked (?) concrete spreaders
Filled the gaping foundations with its gray slush
And the deer fled
And the black birds had resting places on the open rooftops
And the last trees crumbled to the diesel monsters
Where future houses will stack itself with the firewood
Of septuagenarians and those who aspire to end that race.

Incessant noise of change 
A cock-a-doodle-doo alarm
On the other side of the black fence
My side where I find comfort in a book
And a drink to whet my appetite
And conjure up the images of the verdant green that once was
And the hoary land that once was my winter vista

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