Two Poems|Kenneth Pobo
STROLLING WITH WALT
Yesterday Walt Whitman and I
visited the Arboretum,
cold and snow sloppy,
but he’s dead and feels fine.
I’m alive and good conversation
warms me up. Walt asked
about my America–was it a land
of promise? We can be sure
of some promises–someone will die
of gunfire. Everyday.
We can be sure that vicious
leaders will create vicious laws,
bellies full of dead queers
and people of color.
We stood on a bridge
over a creek—he disappeared
back into death.
I went home, read his book,
and he returned, in our living room,
a cloud beside a red vase.
PREACHING MONK
Painting by Goya, 1814
I feel myself melting–
arms slide off,
ears drip down
my vanishing chest.
I cover what’s left
in a stranger’s prayers
to a God made of
burning iron.
I become a river–
I flow away,
no destination, only
the pulsing light of
his darkness.
Photo by Evan Krause on Unsplash
BIO:
Kenneth Pobo has a new book out from Assure Press called Uneven Steven.
His work has appeared in: Nimrod, Hawaii Review, Mudfish, The Queer South Anthology, Atlanta Review, and elsewhere.
