A Barred Owl Speaks to Me

Time throws an axe at my head. I don’t
duck quickly enough. Wounded,
I keep walking. The forest deepens

and darkens. A barred owl speaks to me
with a charming owl accent. We talk
about Butternut Lake which knows

many spring songs. A harpsichord
inside an uncurling fern plays so I start
to dance, no longer lonely. The owl

flies away. One feather
drops on my shoulder. I suddenly know
every word in the dictionary of trees.

—–

I Open the Door

and it’s Bette Davis, dead
for over three decades,
but fresh as a can
of Mountain Dew.

I make her
a stiff martini. She says
death is like getting
bloodwork done.

A small prick,
you say ouch,
and walk out into forever.

________________________________________________________________________

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.