Poem: Posted


Some will let you in.
Some will not.

For some, the signs are just habit,
put there for insurance,
or because there was once a time that it mattered,
when solitude equaled safety,
a way to avoid questions or meddling
or thieves. Now, they believe,
there is little need, but still… the signs.

For others, there is real fear.
Damage done by so many,
or ravages so deep the protection is not just needed.
It is essential. It can be fear,
or anger, or both.
It is hard to separate the two sometimes.

For some it is greed.
So sure what they have is of such value
that others are determined to come in the night
and steal. Or perhaps what they have is itself
stolen, and there is shame in it.
Thus, the signs. Posted regularly
along walls and fenced.

You learn to pay attention to the signs,
and to the people behind them,
to know when it is safe to ignore them,
and when the danger is real,
for you
and for them.

About this poem

About the signs. And not just the ones on walls.


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