Kenneth Pobo
 
Kenneth Pobo has a new online chapbook from www.philistinepress.com called Fitting Parts.  In December 2009, Main Street Rag published his chapbook called Trina and the Sky.  He teaches Creative Writing and English at Widener University in Pennsylvania.



DINDI AT THE FOUNTAIN

 

In grade school I often felt

thirsty, not for knowledge

or approval, just water.  Iíd

 

raise my hand and ask could I

please get a drink.  No,

I should wait for the break. 

My favorite fountain was by

the gym in a hall without

windows.  Ulysses S. Grant

stared down as I drank.  He looked

 

disappointed.  Pictures from

Miss Blarkís 4th graders often

lined the walls.  I wondered

what pictures Ulysses drew.  Break

 

ended and, my tank full,

I thought about water,

things that cool.  The teacher

would long division us to death,

stuff proper spellings into

our mouths.  Water,

 

moving, carrying me away,

a river of bends and curls

in a building of straight lines.

 

 


 

DINDI IN THE MALL PARKING LOT, MOTOR RUNNING

 

Stores, rattlers

ready to strike.  The food

 

court smells like diabetes. 

My friend Annie says she

can truly breathe in a mall. 

I need a new pal.  Kiosks

rise up, summer storms

in a desert.  Iíve pulled

 

creditís flying insects

from my hair.  I must go in,

must get grandma

a birthday present.  She said,

 

just go to the mall, dear,

it has everything.  I donít

want everythingógive me

 

a smooth stone

of music,

a giant katydid

green on the porch screen.

 

 

 

 
 

FAMILY TRADITION

 

My great grandfather came

from Sao Paulo, a risk-taker

who could rob a neighbor

and build a church, gamble

away the rent and pinch

 

any penny.  Heíd hate

Escanaba, cold as a cola

left on a picnic table,

frozen in a couple of hours. 

Trees are good company,

 

those that havenít been

clear cut yet.   As a child

Iíd lose myself in forests

that became stumps

and weeds.  What would

 

great grandfather say of

the dying rain forest?

Did he hide stolen goods

there, or, like me,

find a place that took him in,

 

and if a storm swept in,

did he dance, did he call

water to come to him,

his tongue out,

hands open?

 

 


Copyright © 2010 Kenneth Pobo