She yanks her back door open,
yells at her neighbor’s porch lights—
“You’re revved up
2500 times more than normal,
and I’m not gonna put up with it.”
Door slam. She

thinks my bird feeder steals
her electricity, that spies
make her toilet flush.
Tonight’s lights, rabid

dogs, leap through her window,
pin her while everybody
loves Raymond. She fights back
hard, but teeth vampire her skin.
Paws push her

deep in the rug--lights burn
and burn, have her for dinner.

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Editor's Note




She begins: I’m a Christian. I’m
not homophobic. But, she says,
she’s unaccepting. What makes her
not a homophobe? She says it’s
love. She loves gay people. She’s
not like bashers or kids
who use “faggot” as their favorite insult. So,

she smiles kindly like women
handing out missionary tracts
in front of the gym on Saturday morning.
Unaccepting. And she’s a sweet person,
I admit. I like her. Knowing
the basher doesn’t need baseball bats

and knives. A nasty law will do.
A loving smile.


When I read out loud
Gray’s churchyard elegy,
I hear bells. If a Milton’s
buried in that cemetery,

ugh. I look for a funky
Houdini dashing out
of a coffin--“Only kidding!”

at a feeder, cat climbing
onto my lap. I’m not thinking
about clopping into my grave

just yet. I want bells
to wake the hellebore
from winter sleep, red

undoing snow’s white laces.

Kenneth Pobo's new book of poetry, Introductions, just appeared from Pearl's Book'Em Press in Atlanta. His work appears at 2River View, Three Candles, Forpoetry.com, Southern Ocean Review, Drexel Online Journal, and elsewhere. His new online chapbook, Postcards from America, can be read at Tamafyhr Mountain Press (www.tmpoetry.com). Kenneth teaches English and Creative Writing at Widener University.

Copyright 2004, Kenneth Pobo. This work is protected under the U.S. copyright laws. It may not be reproduced, reprinted, reused, or altered without the expressed written permission of the author.