Fence Face

His expression never changes,
remaining bland and estranged,
regardless of the work we do
to improve, to make more soothing,
his surroundings.

In fact, I should not say this.
He has, after all, yet to survive a winter outdoors.
I may not even allow it,
being a worrisome sort of householder,
I may pull him inside
and then I would never see
his reaction – or not – to true New England.

At best he is a minimalist conversationalist.
I do not know of what he speaks to the dog at night on her outings.
She may not know either, at least
I think she has little understanding of any words spoken by us
– or he – if a he he be.

And though he never cracks a smile,
or cracks any feature for that matter,
I cannot help but marvel at her presumably fact-filled mind.
After all, she has the entire fence to hold the thoughts
gathered up in sun or shade,
shine or rain,
empty yard or yard a-bustle
with efforts to make it a place for him to find enjoyment.

Fence Face, purchased at a nearby discount store,
meant for a tree to adorn.

But the tree got sick –
there was no cure for her.
She threatened the lines and wires
Running to our home to keep us
alive in sun or shade,
shine or rain,
and allow us to smile and express our expressions.

I think perhaps Fence Face
mourns the loss of his tree,
the loss of the feel of lifeblood
running behind the pieces
that make up his frozen features.

Perhaps Fence Face is me, and I he,
and that is the root
of my own inability to forgive those
who would stare me down, devoid of emotion,
mute in the face of my expressions
and effort to please
those who would seem unpleasable –
at least to me.

Fence Face will remain,
a reminder that even behind frozen faces there may be
Hope of Humanity.