Half of this battle turned out to be

half a battle too many, for me, at least.

Raul drones on & on a good day,

he’ll keep his arms at his sides, instead

of gesturing emphatically at the No

Trespassing sign I wanted to hang

around my neck. He speaks as if

property wasn’t a betrayal, as if

poverty wasn’t the intended denial

of thickly spread butter on bread. But

he speaks with authority, too, to those of us

waiting for the other shoe to be put on

the wrong foot again. The gall, to gum up

the working people’s certainty, the temerity!

Meanwhile, I’ve put a fence post

in the corner & will eventually connect

it to a fence. To keep me in. To keep

the whole city in: the manor houses,

the banking counters, the church steeple, even.

& once everything is in, no one will be left

outside again. No one but Raul, that is,

with his all-knowing looks, his grave

demeanor & his economy of plenty.