Found Beauty - April 28 2026

 

Found Beauty

April 28 2026

The old chain link fence

offends my sense of order.

Adds to the air of neglect

of the bungalow

it presumes to protect.

Which is decrepit enough

with its peeling paint,

uncut grass, overrun with weeds,

and knock-off children’s toys

scattered messily

on the M.C Esher-ish deck.

I prefer plumb-line posts

standing as straight

as soldiers at attention,

galvanized metal

gleaming like a child’s teeth

proudly leaving the dentist’s.

Not the rusting chain link

and dented uprights

that lean like drunken sailors,

the saggy gate

that squeaks stiffly shut

if it closes at all.

Yet despite my first impression

there’s something about this fence

that draws my eye.

Perhaps how it has settled into the land;

conforming to its ups and downs,

gently subsiding

on the poorly drained soil,

and wearing its age

without apology.

Or how it makes the passage of time

seem material,

crystallized

in oxidized metal and dented posts.

Or how, in a neighbourhood

crowded out by gentrification 

this house stands firm,

despite its a cracked foundation

and fun-house tilt;

stubbornly shabby,

poor, but defiant,

refusing to conform.

The fence won’t keep anyone out

  — it’s not so much practical 

as an act of conceptual art.

In which I can't help but see

the found beauty

of imperfection and decay.

Of ageing gracefully

and stoic acceptance. 

And of bending, not breaking,

despite years of bad weather

and the settling of the land.

I walk past it each day,

and instead of looking unsightly 

and out of place,

it’s beginning to look more and more

as if it’s just where it belongs.