Two Poems

Kenneth Pobo

Photo Credit: jpellgen/Flickr (CC-by-nc-nd)

Indoor Garden

As winter sprints near their driveway,
Jerry lugs in fuchsias, a plumeria,
an abutilon, a waist-high gardenia
for a warm bay window, transfers
a salmon double-flowered Christmas
cactus to the dining room window.

Buds look like people
standing in a crowded elevator,
no hope of the door opening
soon. Snow

makes the window ache.
Color trembles on the sill.


Flyover America

Flyovers, acres of sunflowers,
yellow memories coming
into bloom, yellow raincoats,
yellow July moon haze, yellow frosted
cupcakes after Marsha’s funeral. Still,

I prefer to avoid flying over bodies
of my dead in the ground, yawning
cemeteries with a hidden-knife silence.
Wherever I go, the dead stay near.

They aren’t sleeping or waiting
to come back. They’ve let go. Prairie
winds dust where they lie,
not rest.



Kenneth Pobo had a book out in 2017 from Circling Rivers called Loplop in a Red City. Forthcoming from Clare Songbirds Press is a book of his prose poems called The Antlantis Hit Parade. Email: kgpobo[at]

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