Through a narrow house, white sun
And silver cloud

Shadows burst and, broken, pass.
Bleached and elsewhere mold

-furrowed flimsy planks
Creak in river winds a No

Trespassing sign
Out front among brittle, thick

-grown timothy lends
Effective as pathetic voice.

Hoary sunlight spills
Across mossy ties, gravel

Embankment, corduroy shoes
And who except to photograph it

Would ever trespass there?
Or what could any inside add

To or subtract from this
Sullen, hoarse vacuity

So full of its identity
And any interest in that?

 

/

A native of Norfolk, Virginia, Alex MacConochie is currently pursuing a PhD in English literature at Boston University. His poems have recently appeared in The McNeese Review and The Kentucky Review.