Meteorologist on a Calm Day

I can’t even speak about clouds,
the sky an unforgiving blue.
I climb the sun’s gold ladder
to heaven—but it’s empty. 
Everyone returned to Earth

to enjoy a perfect day.  No wind,
just a slight breeze to tease open
the eye of a violet.  An angel
almost slipped on morning dew,
but it grabbed onto a lilac
just in time.  I’m probably

the only sad person, rain far away. 
I could indicate what might
appear in tonight’s sky.  Look up

and see Jupiter, a world
with real weather,
a huge red spot gashed into it
for centuries.  Or Neptune
with 2000mph winds. 

What can I offer but 75 degrees
and a bluebird preening
on a flagpole?

***

Nude Philosopher

I peel off my clothes.   
Under fabric, the same old me,
breathe in, breathe out, cars
roll by, and my parrot theorizes
on my shoulder.  I think

that I think better naked,
but my ideas come fully dressed,
soldiers in formation.  Why
did I tell them that they could
live with me?  It’s time
that they fledge, make their
own nests.  Usually I keep

each room dark.  A light bulb
hangs down by my bed.  I turn
the day on and off.  I’m often
asked about the meaning of life. 
I point to the sky and say
“Clouds.” 

I guess it sounds deep. 
My favorite flower
is a dahlia.  Blossom and go. 
Redden something along the way. 

Kenneth Pobo (he/him) 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), Lilac And Sawdust (Meadowlark Press), Lavender Fire, Lavender Rose (BrickHouse Books), and Gold Bracelet in a Cave: Aunt Stokesia (Ethel Press).