On those farms separated by acres
of wheat and corn golden in the sun,
there was a oneness between neighbors.
Disputes were few and settled on the site.
Trust opened doors.
Those houses that claimed no skeletons,
bore locks that claimed skeleton keys. Every door,
inside and out, had a lock. Every key opened
every door. ‘Lose your key, neighbor has three.’
Twice a year, they dosed the locks with graphite
and tested to see that nothing had rusted.
All that graphite, all those fancy brass keys,
an extravagance really; one size fit.
I guess they thought,
“Why build a door then lock it?”