Fences

by Ed Werstein

There used to be more sides in the world.
Grandpa’s barn had four good sides
before it went down in a storm in ’87.
Grandpa, too, had a good side and a bad side.
They both went down in ’63.

When Uncle Jim took a steer to market,
there were two sides of beef,
a side in his freezer, a side in ours.

There used to be shorter fences
in back yards
and neighbors on each side
talking to each other.
And if they ever mentioned sides,
it certainly wasn’t to say, “you’re on the wrong side.”

There was your side and my side, but we talked.

And politics? Jesus,
there were all kinds of sides
and lots of middle ground
in the town square.

Now sides are taken, not shared.

Newsmen boast about reporting both sides of the story,
as if there were always only two.

There used to be a sunny side of the street,
a few dead ends,
but every street with a sunny side,
not just Park Avenue.

Can you remember?
Can you even imagine it now?
Every street with a sunny side
and all you had to do was cross over.