Just a Leaning Post

Community garden, mostly weeds now.

Walked through it, just to see how

things were. Found myself leaning

against a fence post, meaning

nothing really, just for a rest.

But this one was soft, half-rotted, compressed

where it met the earth. And a thin piece

of barbed wire, rusty, found its release

from whatever it was holding up once.

It hung there, a dull, sad glance

at something broken. It wasn't sharp,

just tired, like an old, forgotten harp.

It didn't keep anything in, or out,

just stood there, leaving no doubt

that some things just give up the fight,

and lean into the long, slow night.