Nothing is soothing about barbed wire. Brand new

it may glisten like the cold heart of steel does but it will never

be your fuzzy peach, your sycamore tree. Rusted, it stains

your fingers – orange like a sun setting so far on the horizon

that the city haze shades it especially for you and your tired eyes.

Wire can be the vehicle for the hook that sacrifices the bass for you.

Wire can be the filament that brings light to your darkness, or song

on the wings of that sweet Baby Grand. Wire can suspend your linens

until the day kisses them dry, but barbed will only shred and mangle.

Barbed will only tear and tangle. It keeps the cows from straying

and the ponies baying, the convicts from second chances, and the elbows

of sentries on tables. Each machined little point is adept at fulfilling

its mission. Keep Out! Stay In! Get Out!

Only an ice storm could shroud it in beauty, only a madman

or a sad man would use it to keep him from flying apart.

© Tina Zabielski 2011-2019