Property Lines

The bus is ten minutes late again.

I lean back against the chain-link,

letting the galvanized wire take my weight

because my lower back is a knot of glass.

On the other side, the grass is cut short,

edged with a professional's hand.

On my side, there’s a flattened soda can

and a dandelion pushing through a crack.

When I pull away, I feel the pattern.

A dozen silver diamonds pressed

into the flesh of my shoulder blades,

marking exactly where I am allowed to stand.