The Boarded Up

Across the street, a vacant stare,

where life used to fill the air.

Now rough-hewn boards, a pale facade,

a silent, sudden, harsh charade.

The plywood shields what lies within,

a story ended, where to begin?

I see the edges, sharp and frayed,

where hasty cuts were roughly made.

It splinters out, a wounded grain,

hiding sunshine, hiding rain.

A temporary, grim repair,

leaving emptiness laid bare.

It stops the world, it makes you pause,

behind its unadorned rough jaws.