Lines in the pavement.
Sing me that song:
Step on it.
Step over it.
Go on. I dare you.
Once crossed ain’t no going back.

Lines in stone,
on a map,
penned on the page,
scratched with stick
through shifting sands.

So many lines, aligned,
dressed for eternity
intone with me
phrases and incantations
oft and glibly repeated;
As long as rivers run,
as long as grasses grow,
’til mountains crumble,
and oceans are reduced to dust.

Lines describe, direct
prescribe, prohibit, and protect.
Lines assigned and signed.
Don’t cross,
stay within,
think outside,
but stay in line.
I have to wonder,
is a trespass a trespass
if the lines are down?
And, what’s the proverbial line in the sand
to the grain exposed?

To flatlanders, plane bound habitants,
a line penned
divides eternally.
Thus it is written,
and so it shall be.
There’s just no getting over infinity.

Remember my child,
cross and color
neatly within lines.
Queue by class, nationality, and allegiance;
with lines we divide.
So go now,
in the name efficiency,
in the name of security,
our lines extend forever.

Writer, walker, poet, educator. Commercial fisherman, builder, donut maker, organic grower. Boston, U. City, Maine, South Africa, Madrid.

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store