Fence Wars, or Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

I have no idea when the fence war started, or why, but for the last two years that we have been driving past it, it has been stalled at this point. You get an idea of what has transpired. Something happened and one neighbor put up a fence. The other neighbor was not to be outdone, and put up a taller fence. You might think the tall fence is winning, because it is taller. However, on the tall fence side, what the white fence neighbor can't see, is a mess of an unfinished project: scaffolding, fencing, sand, a cement mixer litter the driveway. I imagine that Mrs. Tall Fence has given up nagging Mr. Tall Fence to either finish the fence or take it down and clean it up. Mr. Tall Fence sulks on the couch every weekend, hiding in the glow of ESPN, secretly sorry he started the infernal project in the first place. He's still angry about whatever set off the fence war. He knows he was in the right, so why should he exert himself with this unfinished job while Mr. White Fence smugly reaps the benefits of his (Mr. Tall Fence's) labor to erect the partition? What is without a doubt, is that both agree that Fences make the best neighbors.

Mending Wall
Robert Frost

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
"Stay where you are until our backs are turned!"
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, "Good fences make good neighbors."
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
"Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down." I could say "Elves" to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors."