Gaywings bloom in May and into June,
thin blossoms, shorter than an ankle—
they often call as we walk past. Soon
they’ll be fading—we’ll be back to fulltime
jobs. We bend, admire purple fire
burning between a damp maple leaf
and a fern. Looking pale, we’re shyer
than they. In a week, they’ll come to grief.


originally appeared in Brittle Star (2004)

Published by

Kenneth Pobo

Kenneth Pobo has six full-length collections of poetry and, including Ice And Gaywings, twenty chapbooks. His latest book, from Blue Light Press, is called Bend Of Quiet, and Booking Rooms in the Kuiper Belt is forthcoming from Urban Farmhouse Press. Ken began writing at age fifteen. He teaches creative writing and English at Widener University in Chester, Pennsylvania. He and his partner and two cats enjoy gardening, music, and the Wisconsin Northwoods. Catch Ken’s radio show, Obscure Oldies, on Saturdays from 6:00-8:30 pm EST at WDNR 89.5 FM.