Property Line

I heard it before I saw it—

chain-link being pulled from dry ground,

the complaint metal makes

when you take it somewhere

it didn't agree to go.

No heads-up. Just a truck,

bolt cutters, and the fence gone

by eleven in the morning.

What stayed was a rectangle

of pale, pressed grass

where the posts had been,

the ground still holding the shape,

still organized around a structure

that wasn't there.

I didn't know I was using it

to know where things ended.

My yard. His yard.

That clear, dumb line.

I watched from the kitchen window

longer than made sense.

The yard looks bigger now.

That's not the same thing

as having more of it.