Holiday in Blank

You do notice how white it is,
In people terms, after a while—
So far, fair-skinned Americans
And no other shade around here—

Which makes you think about the gate
Where you waited for the owner,
Whose relatives you’re visiting,
To come out, unlock, let you in.

You’re not living in an era
When it’s legal to bar entry
Based on one’s skin color or tribe,
But property is property,

And this is western Montana
More than hour from Missoula.
Add in minimum lot sizes,
Gates for safety and privacy

And that pretty much does the trick.
The rabbits in the hat stay white.
The owners are old family
By local standards, once ranchers,

Now professionals back in town
A few generations later.
Whoever lives on the nearest
Reservation, whose ancestors

May have hunted around this lake
Or lived here a few thousand years,
Don’t own any of these houses,
Don’t possess those keys to the gate.

Freeloader that you are, you’re glad
For a few days’ swimming, spare bed,
Pure family hospitality,
And keep your notions to yourself.

You know this family would make clear
They personally were delighted
If the newest wealthy neighbors
Showed in some darker shade than pale,

But you muse how humans game out
Resources, how there’s always those
Whose resources you’d like to share,
And humans who want some of yours,

Your opportunities at least,
And when shown to your guest bedroom
You instantly feel possessive
Arranging things and shut the door.