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Kenneth Pobo: Two Poems
Hopkins' Poplars | Cobalt Blue Vase

Hopkins' Poplars

He goes where green
poplar leaves form an ocean,
floats past the horizon,

happy. Today he finds
stumps. Cut. The green
ocean dried up. He returns

to the rectory, writes a poem,
wishes the poor could make
soup from a syllable,

that a green ocean would burst
through the door and take him,
naked, deep into the splash.

Cobalt Blue Vase

In the antique store, a cobalt
blue vase grows hands.
As I peruse creased copies
of Life, he taps me. I'm no
pushover, but this vase
convinces me we must be

together. I take him off a shelf
he gladly leaves—no more waiting
behind inferior glass tumblers
and awful melmac cups. Home at last,

I carry him across the threshold,
dash out into the garden,
pick two blue girl roses,
six pouffe bellflowers, and
an uppity penstamon, pour him water,
stick in the stems. How
handsome he looks in the sun.

That was eight years ago,
and now we're the happiest
couple in the neighborhood—
my glass vase shines
as I do when I hear

his blue heart beat,
see his blue mouth open.

Poet's Biography:
  Kenneth Pobo's book of poems, Introductions, will appear from Pearl's Book'Em Press in September. In 2002, Pudding House brought out his chapbook Kenneth Pobo's Greatest Hits, and in 2001 Higganum Hills Books published his book Ordering: A Season in My Garden. He collects garage/bubblegum/psychedelia records from the 1960s, gardens, and enjoys his two cats Preston and Margot. He teaches English and Creative Writing at Widener University near Philadelphia.

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