Beach Day
Withered oaks bar cracked gray
from black sands, silent witnesses
of a Great evil, done by us.
Memory of a people, corrodes, rusts.
Molted & melted shells
freckle our morbid lane,
acid rain & sea foam mix
burn away our claim.
Boiled fish flock to this beach.
New currents unknown
swept those poor souls
to strands, lands, not home.
Dark mangy birds pick the eyes
of a pike washed up,
fly to their nest &
to their young, they’ll sup.
The last of us,
fierce hunger fueled,
crawls from the mossy gray,
through the leafless oaks
stands on black sand
& covers their nose
& digs in.
Michael Crowley is an undergrad at SUNY Geneseo from Eden, NY, studying English (literature) and philosophy. In his spare time, he enjoys reading, writing poetry, gardening, spending time in parks, snowboarding, and most other outdoor activities.