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Poetry / Kenneth Pobo

'Hibernation' and 

‘Dulcet Tones Says He’s Been on the Moon’ 

Issue 1. February 01, 2021


            Painting by Remedios Varo

In your living

room you watch a rerun

of December Bride, it’s 1955 again,

your grandmother’s cuckoo clock

tells the toaster the wrong time. 

You call your friend.  Sleeping. 

You call your minister.  Sleeping. 

You scream WAKE UP to your

sleeping street.  It is scary to be

awake and alone.  Maybe

you’re not alone.  The dead

might have a party—or a meeting

of their book group.   

Wait long enough and cars

will clog streets.  The ice cream truck

will tinkle by.  You will relax—

and fall asleep, deeply. 

You might not ever awaken.


When I get to the moon

I step through a big white door,

Drop on a dusty couch,

no one around, just me

and cats made of dust. 

The moon mocks our spaceships,

prefers to chat with

her brother and sister,

Triton and Europa.  I head

back to Earth.  Bees of logic

sting tables and chairs. 

Moonlight rubs the nape of my neck. 

Kenneth Pobo is the author of twenty-one chapbooks and nine full-length collections.  Recent books include Bend of Quiet (Blue Light Press), Loplop in a Red City (Circling Rivers), and Uneven Steven (Assure Press). Opening is forthcoming from Rectos Y Versos Editions. Lavender Fire, Lavender Rose is forthcoming from Brick/House Books.

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