He said galvanized means permanent

He said galvanized means permanent.

Said it to the neighbor, then at dinner,

then once more to himself

while he pressed the post into the ground

with his boot — his good shoes —

my mother saying something about it

that I can't hear anymore.

I came out for air between her boxes.

Her handwriting on the sides.

The smell of old paper and something sweet

going wrong underneath it.

The hole in the corner is fist-sized.

The wire around it still holds its silver,

doing its job,

while the wire inside the hole

has gone the color of a bad October.

A bag caught on a barb near the top

has lost its color completely.

Just the shape of a bag now.

Just the outline of something

that used to carry things.

He made a whole thing about galvanized.

Zinc sacrifices itself so the iron holds.

That was the point.

The zinc goes first.

And underneath, the iron holds.

I stood there past the point it made sense.

I know because I caught myself standing there,

which is how you know.

Eleven years.

The fence is still mostly there.