Who goes (t)here?
There is a fence
high as a prison wall
though sans barbed wire,
not sans spikes.
Through it,
I see paths,
sidewalks and park spaces,
orange trees and evergreens
with pine cones.
I see the backs of buildings,
air conditioning units
and electrical boxes,
paint-chipped pipes and ducts.
On the city sidewalk
I stand.
Across the street are houses:
some with students,
some with families.
I see empty chairs on porches,
cars and newspapers,
garbage.
You must walk all the way down
to George, and face the traffic's eyes
in order to enter the other
universe-city on the other side
of the fence.
I see gates with enormous
padlocks.
I have never seen them opened...
do they?
Who has the key?
And who goes through them?
Who will never?
And who will never
look through from that other side –
and why?
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