Death of Porches

by Larry D. Thacker 

Front porches are a dying thing.
Rockers and swings, hanging baskets,
your late evening sip of bourbon
in the forgiving death of the day’s heat,
the neighbor visiting, traffic’s creep,
a dog’s bark, all of it myth-bound.

Our new architecture neglects the idea.
Opts for decks out back, inconsequential
foyers where no one lingers any longer
than to dust off shoes or hang an umbrella.

The saved space makes room for garages
consuming a third of a house’s façade,
sacrifices closet space for empty halls,
asphalt double driveways over the little
bit of space for a garden you may have had.
Plastic potted plants in conditioned air.

This is fear. Fear of what might be seen
if we kept our porches and sat there, rocking,
breathing, looking neighbors in the eye,
accidently catching our own reflections.

Larry D. Thacker’s poetry can be found in over a hundred publications, including The Still Journal, American Journal of Poetry, Poetry South, Spillway, Tower Poetry Society, Mad River Review, The Southern Poetry Anthology, Mojave River Review, Town Creek Poetry and Appalachian Heritage. His books include Mountain Mysteries: The Mystic Traditions of Appalachia and the poetry books Voice Hunting, Memory Train and Drifting in Awe. He completed his MFA in poetry and fiction in January of 2018. Read his previous poems in Deep South here.