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November 24, 2009 by · No comments

Kenneth Pobo

Photo: Darwin Bell

Tartuffe’s selling dentures at the mall
copped from a dental clinic, winks
from the confessional. At the I-95

Welcome Center he hands out maps
with bags of blow. On the mayor’s lap.
He’s running a resale shop but it’s

really a front for a kidnappers. He’s
roiling in bad chemistry, goofing off
but looking busy. Tartuffe,

the tightrope walker on invisible wires
between TV stations, unaware he’s in
mid-air, falling, falling.

Categories: Frontpage · poetry


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