KJ Roby, three poems


Navigating a Housing Bubble

She calls with weather reports and says, “We split a potato for dinner.” He might send a picture of a bird on the feeder. That they have money for birdseed is confounding. “Spend it wisely,” I want to caution when she emails yet another cobbler recipe. They head north to open their windows at night, to enjoy the last few moments together before the bank forecloses.

White shoes on her feet,

Mother will bake me peaches

‘til the oven breaks.

I Never Told Anyone About Santa Claus

I never told anyone,

but I thought carpools had water and diving boards.

I never told anyone,

but I invented cellphones when I was seven;

And when I saw mommy, she wasn’t kissing Santa Claus.

I never told anyone,

but I broke the egg-shell roses at Grandma’s house.

I never told anyone,

but I turned on & tuned out before Timothy Leary said to,

Especially when I sat on Santa’s knee;

He couldn’t hurt me.

I never told anyone,

but I ate the orange insides of acorns.

I never told anyone,

but I built a rocket to rush my sister Ruth to the moon,

Because I never told anyone,

but I would have, if I’d seen her with Santa, too.

I’d have told someone then.

Untitled

I am an anxious breeze. I come from the trees, jealous of birds nesting among your fern covered branches. I am fretful, yet curious. I guard my steamy side; my humidity overwhelms. Wet, rainy yet serene, I nap guardedly and dream of the sky.

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