Kenneth Pobo
My Sparkling Disco Balls
As a disco boy, I flopped.
I tried to swing my hips
Travolta-style, looked
more like Bugs Bunny, had
a fever, not just on Saturday nights,
but all week long. Sex
couldn't even break my temperature.
Even poetry couldn't. I had
to wait it out, wait it out,
'till one Saturday I decided
not to go to Park Avenue
and shake what was left of my
ass. It was a death
of sorts. Love plopped
right down on my rug
and said, "Let's stay in tonight.
Let's talk about music
or dahlias."
But I Won't Clean Up First
I don’t really mind if
Ann Coulter comes over
wanting dinner. We have chicken wings
and leftover pizza. But if she
starts crabbing about liberals and
women without long blond hair,
serve her a daiquiri and when
Tu Fu arrives, set him down
beside her so he can talk about
the many carnivals he’s been to since
he died, the mountains
that climb him, the rivers
that wash away all human talk
and polish the stones.
Kenneth Pobo does a radio each Saturday from 6-8 p.m. EST at WDNR.com called "Obscure
Oldies." He's also quite thrilled that his orchid has four buds on it--he hasn't had the great
luck getting them to rebloom. He's been writing poetry since he was 15 and is now 54. A few
things he loves: grapefruit, salmon-colored blooms, the epiode of I Love Lucy with Bill
Holden and Lucy sets her nose on fire, Neruda's poems, snowflake rolls, and words like
"Woonsocket" and "trillium."
Home
Issue Two
My Sparkling Disco Balls
As a disco boy, I flopped.
I tried to swing my hips
Travolta-style, looked
more like Bugs Bunny, had
a fever, not just on Saturday nights,
but all week long. Sex
couldn't even break my temperature.
Even poetry couldn't. I had
to wait it out, wait it out,
'till one Saturday I decided
not to go to Park Avenue
and shake what was left of my
ass. It was a death
of sorts. Love plopped
right down on my rug
and said, "Let's stay in tonight.
Let's talk about music
or dahlias."
But I Won't Clean Up First
I don’t really mind if
Ann Coulter comes over
wanting dinner. We have chicken wings
and leftover pizza. But if she
starts crabbing about liberals and
women without long blond hair,
serve her a daiquiri and when
Tu Fu arrives, set him down
beside her so he can talk about
the many carnivals he’s been to since
he died, the mountains
that climb him, the rivers
that wash away all human talk
and polish the stones.
Kenneth Pobo does a radio each Saturday from 6-8 p.m. EST at WDNR.com called "Obscure
Oldies." He's also quite thrilled that his orchid has four buds on it--he hasn't had the great
luck getting them to rebloom. He's been writing poetry since he was 15 and is now 54. A few
things he loves: grapefruit, salmon-colored blooms, the epiode of I Love Lucy with Bill
Holden and Lucy sets her nose on fire, Neruda's poems, snowflake rolls, and words like
"Woonsocket" and "trillium."
Home
Issue Two
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Chickenpinata
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| issue two |
