IT’S MINE

by Lowell Jaeger

 

I survey boundaries,

stake the markers,

lay claim

to this piece of ground.

 

I build walls.  A fortress,

my corner of the hive.

I lock the gate. Bolt the doors.

Draw curtains tight.

 

It’s mine, I say.  It’s mine.

 

Blind worms burrow,

heedless of limits

I’ve scratched in the dirt.

 

Jays raid the orchards.

Wind blows leaves and foreign trash

from outside acres.

 

Blackflies and mosquitoes

mock me. I swat and swat

in vain.

 

That’s me, stringing barbed wire,

hammering red-lettered signs.

It’s mine,

say the fenceposts.

No trespassing.

It’s mine.