Six Poems
by Kenneth Pobo
RED SWINGSET
Gregory Crewdson Beneath The Roses
On the red swingset, Abby
thinks about Paul,
the Apostle, determined
to get to Rome, a quest
and a duty. Abby gets
weary just trying to get
to Chambersburg. She doubts
that God has any great plans
for her. Neither do her parents.
Her boyfriend Lenny says they’ll
have kids. It sounds like
a reproach. She finds kids
boring. The swingset
holds her as it has for many years.
Everything still. Even clouds
slow down to eat the pink
pie of dusk. Lenny may
drop in later. Unless
he’s too drunk. The Apostle
won’t drop in. He’s busy
herding angels. Abby believes
in angels. She’s just never
met one and would be
tongue-tied if she did.
CLAPBOARD
Gregory Crewdson Beneath The Roses
From our second-floor balcony,
a bruised-looking sky
announces a new rain.
A dim streetlight calls me,
though our lights are on.
I prefer them off. My family
needs them for homework
or when my husband
plays piano, the only man
on our street who does,
slow, sad songs. Perhaps
we’ve lost each other,
not sure how—
when he plays
I feel discovered, seen.
I’m Ruth, not like the praised
Biblical one. I get a grocery list,
count quarters for the laundromat.
APOLOGY
In eighth grade
I made fun
of Lowell
only because
his mom
taught me English--
I’d yell out Lowell,
can’t you hear your
mother calling you?
I found this
terribly funny.
I’m sorry,
Lowell. A half
a century gone,
I complained about
bullies, yet
on the playground
I didn’t care
if I hurt you.
EARLY DAYS IN HEAVEN
Now that I’ve died I find
the pearly gates are lavender.
Bette Davis and Judy Garland
let me in. Dear Judy, singing
“Get Happy” as I enter paradise.
I ask about Peter. Bette says
he’s giving a TED talk to lazy angels.
Heaven takes some getting used to.
Streets can walk and buildings
have Jello bricks. I ask a spirit
where my mansion is. The spirit
doesn’t know what a mansion is.
I get homesick for Earth
thinking of an island on a lake
growing a single pine,
an eagle on top.
I’m wistful
until I find a piano bar
where everyone sings
“I Got Rhythm,”
even God.
JUST MY LUCK
The busy parking lot,
a dream that I hope
to wake from soon. At
the laundromat I pass
time with a magazine,
cover torn off. Ads
say that I’m a sorry mess--
something
is missing. Well,
don’t I know it.
Just try to find it
in torn socks
and a scorched robe.
In a couple of hours
I’ll be in bed,
sound awake,
listening for mice.
LENNY WITH VIOLETS
My bones
will be still
as silverware
in a cedar chest.
Flowers
may
pop
open
above me,
Earth
seeing up
through branches
using eyes
of violets.
BIO: Kenneth Pobo has a new book out called At The Window, Silence (Fernwood 2025). Forthcoming is a chapbook called Raylene And Skip (Wolfson Press). Poems are forthcoming at Hamilton Stone Review, Wordpeace, and Arlijo.