Kenneth Pobo
Everywhere Fire
The world is always going to
Hell, but we find our own way
to get there. The flames
are right before us as we text
someone else also about
to be eaten by fire.
A woman screams that we’re in
danger, so we turn up the volume
of the game: we must know
who’s winning. Maybe nobody
is winning. The rules snuck away
with chaos, kissed in a hotel
also burning. As a boy I used to
put marbles in a glass,
then tip the glass over
to see them scatter. I grew up
to be a marble heading
for a fiery rug. I keep hoping
I’ll have enough speed to escape,
my glass already shattering.
Other work by Kenneth Pobo