What We Cover

I stopped to look at the fence

they're building on the lot where the old store was,

and the galvanized coating—

that gray protective shell—

is already failing.

Rust bleeds through in vertical streaks,

orange-brown lines

like the metal underneath is tired

of being hidden,

tired of being covered,

ready to show

what it actually is.

The fence still does its job,

still keeps the empty space contained,

still tells you not to cross,

still performs

every function it's supposed to perform.

But the protection is coming undone.

The coating can't hold.

Nothing stays coated forever.

Nothing stays gray and pristine.

I think about all the things we seal,

all the rust we're trying to prevent,

all the ways we fail

at keeping ourselves from oxidizing.

The fence will rust completely someday.

It will need replacing.

Or maybe it won't.

Maybe it will just stand here

looking tired,

looking exposed,

still containing

what it was meant to contain,

but everyone will see

what's happening underneath.