Sunday

Kenneth Pobo

Dominoes


Everything was a domino—
or a theory about them. I played dominoes

in my bedroom, fun for twenty minutes,
till I wanted to see Miss Jane chase Jethro
on The Beverly Hillbillies. My parents believed
in dominoes too: Viet Nam, Laos,
Cambodia, Thailand—then—
Mt. Prospect, Illinois, Ho Chi Minh’s men
hiding explosives in dime-store lockets.

A helicopter left Saigon.
A decade had gone.
I was in college, stadium rock and Camus.

Dominoes found me asleep
in my dorm, snuck in the window,
caged me—the dots fell off each one,
pinned me, prevented screams.



In 2008, WordTech Press published Kenneth Pobo's new book of poems entitled Glass Garden.