Summer 1987 • Vol. IX No. 3 Poetry |

Seeing Cooch

Most winter days,passing thatwreck of a houseall wrappedin plastic,you do notfind him. It justsits by the rampto 89 likea great loafof bread. Yetthere are timesjust beforeyour mind closeson the traffictoward Concord, you seethe slow, blackcoat of Cooch.He will be outon his failedporch, studyinga tire or somethingwithout a drawer.Some nightsyou see himin a room beyondhis plastic-coveredwindows, movingin the afterlifeof ruined things.

Already have an account? Login

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece



Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More

Town Limits

By Wesley McNair

Most winter days,passing thatwreck of a houseall wrappedin plastic,you do notfind him. It justsits by the rampto 89 likea great loafof bread. Yetthere are timesjust beforeyour mind closeson the traffictoward […]

Ghosts

By Wesley McNair

Most winter days,passing thatwreck of a houseall wrappedin plastic,you do notfind him. It justsits by the rampto 89 likea great loafof bread. Yetthere are timesjust beforeyour mind closeson the traffictoward […]

Subscribe

Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.

Donate

With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.