The Postage Stamp Neighborhood

Sweat, sawdust, grunt, brick, ballbust…
the fence goes up between us.
Grimaces exchanged
Tooth of wormwood
Space to smile over would be more pleasant.
I like a loss of words from time to time.
Make no mistake,
I do not fear a beer with a friend or two, or four, or forty…
so long as I can retreat
to a quiet space, energy, power, and light,
with no walls to confine me, myself, and I;
all strangers with whom I haven’t yet become deeply acquainted.
Doors never closed,
faces never out of business,
ears open to other people’s silence,
eyes focused on the private Holy Trinity.
Your ubliet, or mine?
The contents are of no consequence;
I have collected the same bag of tricks and treats,
only the brand names differ.