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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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Dindi Just Outside Of J.C. Penney’s

 

 

 

In the room the people come

and that sounds familiar,

like the gray coat an older

shopper wears who uncannily

resembles Grandma Myer—

in winter snow hardens

ugly and the cold

tortures it, so

I go to the mall, feed

hungry scanners where

nothing dies, nothing lives,

we walk and gape,

fluorescence softens us.  

 

                  -Kenneth Poboth

 

 

 

 

Dindi Checking Her Tires

 

Some things are said too often,

like be careful or check

your gas, oil and tires.

I’m careful as a dime

snug in a meter. I check

gas and oil every two months

just in case. Also

my tires. A nail might

kiss the tread, might send me

into a ditch. Though

I find nothing, I’m never

sure. Disaster calls—

another wrong number,

but I say hello, hello. 

 

              -Kenneth Pobot

 

 

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Dindi At The Sink

 

The sill holds a salmon

Christmas cactus and

the last tomato

of the gardening year.

I scrub off mashed potatoes

that hardened three

days ago. Mom never

let things go that long,

kept an immaculate

house. Is she why

I slob around,

invite deterioration? But

I approach the sink

eventually, dip my fingers

in hot water, watch

junkos eat seed

fallen on wilted grass

before they fly away.

 

             -Kenneth Poboth