Fences – Dave Drayton

a shifting gear emitting the same sound they do
when spitting as a means of marking territory
hocking DNA claims from in their chests to
slick the pavement near Kmart adjacent
entrances to Westfield

the shops are closed but that is not the point
it’s us they point and rush and had we
known the jet black gum spat
on the ground implied a
claim of ownership
we may
not have ventured here

have just taken the long route their giving chase soon chose for us anyway

but now they will not recognise the timber slats
that we spat into turf when an older brother’s
interest in the endless stream of cars on
that main road became too strong
another boundary to be

Tresspassed the gate and down the driveway
before he reappears brandishing a
backyard cricket bat with a view
to boundaries and they
retreat beyond
the rope
keep spitting intrusions and insults

while mum bewildered calls the cops

months later she frets about that same fence
convinced the illegible tag thoughtlessly
tacked on its outer side was some
connected to the pack
that chased us home as

though the house was marked with anything
more than poor can control
& the braggart pioneers of Iwazhereism