Sometimes, The Thing That Stands Out Is Small

Sometimes, The Thing That Stands Out Is Small

 

It is the board in the fence,

shifted only slightly to the right,

opening a breach in your understanding

of the neighbor—

and making you wonder which way they lean.

Is it safe to bring a hammer and a nail,

or would that cross the line itself,

that invisible border saying, without words,

where your limits lie,

what may be carried in your hands,

or whether a weapon still counts as speech?

Because you might expose what is already

plain,

and then they would have to set it right—

straighten the board by making a hammer of you,

in their grim reckoning,

and leave you on the fence, a warning to whoever forgets where they do not belong.