by Kenneth Pobo
In the bottom drawer, poems
from forty years ago, paper yellowed,
under a VHS of Bette Davis in
Beyond The Forest and stashed pages
of blah stuff about old finances–
a map to a self gone vague,
like finding Instamatic photos,
people I have my arm around,
names lost. Here’s me, in a silver
disco shirt. Or me in patio shoes
and a perm.
I retype each one, meet myself,
shake hands with earlier selves
who I thought were dead
but lives again. My current self
sprawls across the couch,
Stan upstairs at his computer,
my predecessors planning something
in the kitchen.
About the Poet:
Kenneth Pobo has a new book forthcoming called The Antlantis Hit Parade (Clare Songbirds Publishing House). His work has appeared in: Nimrod, Mudfish, Glass, Philadelphia Stories, and elsewhere.