“Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.”
Maybe something like the slaves?
Without so much as a husking glove
they lugged the rock and stacked it dry
beneath Virginia’s ruthless sky.
But maybe skill like theirs is love:
the walls abide, unlike the graves.
Slave-built: a golden phrase
in Real Estate, a guarantee
the yuppies covet: money in the bank,
and no one ever stops to thank
the masons for their loving artistry;
we’re all equal nowadays.
That leaves us with the mounted lox
beleaguering a hapless fox
who dares a jump and takes a fall:
but even horses know a fool,
and one exception proves the rule:
everybody loves a wall.