The Fence

[fromcancertocapricorn]

I watch the ghosts in the evening haze
along the pasture fence.

We built that fence fifty years ago,
my back wet from driving pick and shovel,
placing the posts exactly where Grandfather pointed.

My aching fingers like broken sticks I'm not too sure about the phrasing here.
from stretching barbed wire in perfect lines
on posts flawlessly spaced.

He towered above me.
"Build it well," he said,
"and it will last longer than we will."

A breeze swirls the ghosts and haze away
from the glistening taut wire. I feel like this is a weird ending, like the poem didn't go anywhere.

Overall I really don't like the poem. I think you may be trying to get at a theme of family preservation. Otherwise, you might just be recollecting a meaningful experience you had with your grandfather. The poem has no profound or somewhat interesting ideas. What is this even about: nothing important. If you did have some goal of theme or wanted to convey something of importance you failed...