Superior’s Ghosts

We drink milkshakes in Bayfield,
45s line walls. Tourists
scrape off jobs, amble

into shops. Lake Superior
has devoured many sailors,
holds secrets. A ghost

sits at any table. Someone
who died in the 1890s
pulls up a chair, sees

our Tommy Hilfiger shirts,
digital watches. Yet his lake
is also ours—icy water,

stunned moon. You and I talk
about tomorrow. He already
knows what he’ll do—stop by

a restaurant, listen, walk
on sand, watch for his body
between iron-scented waves.


originally appeared in Heartlands (2003)

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.