#4
from the painting by Mark Rothko, 1964
Kenneth Pobo


Red, a salesman getting his foot 
in the door. You think of 
your soul as colorless, water 
that never makes anyone wet. 
 
Years, black alpaca sweaters.
You wear them all, put one on 
over another. Your soul sweats. 
Maybe a new one will hatch. 
The night used to have stars 
 
until they all went out like lights 
at a teenage make-out party. Happy
in darkness, yet also afraid. The light 
may burst on at any moment. 
Then what?