PORTER WAGONER

Kenneth Pobo

Porter Wagoner. source: Country Music Hall of Fame

PORTER WAGONER

In his blue Nudie suit,
he looked like fireworks
seen from a barn loft. 
He took us
to the rubber room,
introduced us to lost outsiders
like Albert Erving. 
Something unsettling
slipped through the twang
and steel guitar.   

No need to fear it. 
I turned it up louder
and sang along.

DULCET TONES WATCHING THE SEVENTH SEAL

My boyfriend Roger and I are bored. 
With everything.  A stock market,
the sun can rise or fall.  Our passion
flower vine might have a breath-stopping bloom,
a perfect moment.  One day we’ll stop
breathing entirely.   

In our game, I’m a knight and Roger
is death.  I stink at games.  He always wins.
In the red rocker he warms
cold chess pieces on his lap. 

DULCET TONES ON A SWING

At ten my mother died. I went
to the park and swung for hours. 
She was in heaven, my grandparents said—
the swing got me as close to heaven
as I could get.  I always came back down,
a fried bologna sandwich by my place
at the table 

when I got home.  Sometimes I heard
mom’s voice coming up from the basement. 
It sounded like an egg cracked.  She said
I should be interesting.  If I swang

high enough, I’d wear cloud shorts. 
I’d be interesting.

Kenneth Pobo has a new book out from Assure Press called Uneven Steven. He lives in Middletown, Pennsylvania, with his husband and two cats. Things he likes: Tommy James and the Shondells; bark. Things he dislikes: hot weather; cabbage.