|
Home
Summer-Fall
2013
Spring-Summer
2013
Winter-Spring
2013
Fall-Winter
2012-2013
Summer-Fall
2012
Spring-Summer
2012
Winter-Spring
2012
Autumn/Winter
2011-12
Summer
2011
Winter/Spring
2011
Autumn/Winter
2011
Summer
2010
Spring
2010
Winter
2010
Autumn
2009
Summer
2009
Spring
2009
Autumn
2008
Summer
2008
Spring/Summer
2008
Winter/Spring
2008
Editor's
Note
Guidelines
Contact
|
Three
Poems
by
Kenneth Pobo
1963,
Villa Park, Illinois
We’re
watching The
Dick Van Dyke Show.
Rob trips
over
the ottoman. Laura and Milly discuss
events
on Bonny Meadow Road. Afterwards,
my
parents walk uptown and I play whiffle ball
with
the neighbor boys, porchlights on. April
Stevens
and Nino Tempo sing “Deep Purple”
on
WLS--I think that’s the neatest song
I’ve
ever heard. My parents return and ask
have
I finished my homework. I say I have.
They
know I’m lying but, as Andy Taylor said on
The
Andy Griffith Show,
“Daylight is precious
when
you’re a young one.” Two months later,
the
president is murdered. We’re dismissed.
We
walk home or get picked up. I catch a cold.
While
dad takes mom to church, I sniffle alone
on
the couch, see Ruby kill Oswald--
the
face contorts,
the
body drops.
When
I hear dad drive in, I tell him what I saw.
4
days of a death and funeral. Then school
and
Lucy trying to outfox Mr. Mooney.
Dad
back at work. Mom avoiding
the
Fuller Brush man. Christmas shopping.
|
|
Days
of 1967
7th
graders slap
flower
decals on notebooks.
When
I walk down a hall,
they
go after me: crewcutted,
don’t
I know The Beatles
wear
it long? Why aren’t I with it?
A
stupid faggot,
that’s why—
they
slam me into lockers,
follow
me. I’m too ashamed
to
tell my parents. Maybe
I’m
a door seen in the distance.
I
come home, see clothes
flapping
on our line, ride
my
bike uptown. Already
it’s
getting dark.
|