The Border Guard

I knew a border guard

I guess he was something of a cliche

There was his belt

overhung with guns and a baton

He never was in rotc in childhood

But admired the splendid rows of manhood

The marching and the salutes

The rows of order

But this time he is alone

Beneath the rows of spiral wire 

And his passion is beginning to rust

I stare at him through the fence

Could is be coincidence

But were our eyes the same color

Of dust

And the ground the same ground

He put down his baton

I dropped my knapsack

And we both waited

And waited

For the men in Washington

To forgive us

For trying to live

To for give us

My eye returned his eye look for look 

And we both understood

They never would

Then he picked up his baton

And moved on