There’s a wall between me
And the gritty city street
Just a wall
Of concrete or brick or shit
One and something feet maybe
Separating me
From everything not-home
Not-nice, not-warm, not even
A not too thick wall
Between me and someone
Next to me
Above me
And next door—the post office
That’s not too much
When you think of it
A teeny-tiny willy-nilly wall
Between you and all not-you
And that’s it
Mara Eastern 
I like this Mara! Your good. ❤️😎
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Aw, thank you for your kind words!
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That’s a pretty, psychedelic pink wall 🙂
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It’s totally psychedelic. It’s a wall in the bar under my flat.
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Your poem is, as usual, very funny and very well-crafted. I particularly like the relentless iteration of the /it/,/i:t/ and /t/ consonant phonetic motif and the snide use of enjambment.
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Aw, thank you so much for your lovely comment! I had a minor epiphany reading it. I mean: I just spilled out a random bunch of lines with hardly any effort and called it a “poem”, but here you go, talking about enjambment and whatnot as though I knew exactly what I was doing. Hm.
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It is often precisely when we turn off our ‘inner’ censor that we produce our best-crafted work.
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Makes sense!
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It’s a piece of shit wall, the engineers failed, everything is psychological, America is not free. Neighbors.
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It is for sure a shitty wall. And everything is psychological. And political, in the end, too.
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