I had this picket fence,
As some men do:
It was white,
And a few feet tall.
It wasn't spectacular
By any means,
But it kept my garden safe -
My garden,
How I miss it so.

I knew my neighbors well,
Some better than others.
I mowed my lawn and watered
The flowers from my garden,
As often as a green thumb would,
And one of those days
I saw a woman
I had never seen before.

She was moving in from California,
Had a house just one  block down.
She asked if she could have
One of my roses,
Which no one had asked before,
So of course I let her in
My picket fence to pick a rose.

We met a few more times
And finally, asked her to come inside.
We had some tea, watched a couple movies
And I enjoyed her company.
And my garden,
I started to forget about it.

One night on our way home,
While she was driving and on the phone
Trying to reply to a text message,
She drove straight into my home
Running over my picket fences.
My garden was dead
And fence that made my home my home
Was gone.

My garden, after so many years,
Was no more, and she had no reason
To visit anymore.
She told me there was another man
That had his own gardener,
That didn't need a green thumb.
She didn't feel the need
To pick flowers anymore.