By a climbing rose, it has seen
maybe thirty years of storms
and gooseberries. We plot

death, want the space it sprawls on
for flowers—I open loppers, cut,
crazily, for a good half hour
till it’s barely a stump.
But not dead.

You rev the chain saw.
Even the stump must go.

Branches, how green they are.
Shining.

Our shirts smell of death.
Partners in life
and now in a killing,

we drop boxwood pieces
into the compost heap,
sneak in the back door, silent.

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Kenneth Pobo

Kenneth Pobo's book, Glass Garden, will be published by WordTech Press in July 2008. His work can be read online at: Forpoetry.com, Adirondack Review, Idlewheel, Hinge, Three Candles, and elsewhere. He likes to collect records from the 60s and garden. Catch his radio show, "Obscure Oldies," on Saturdays from 6-8pm EST at WDNR.com.

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© 2007 Kenneth Pobo