by Kenneth Pobo

When I told my best friend Ted
that I liked guys, he stopped
coming over.  I got used
to being the body on
the other side of a slammed door.

Music took me in. A song
was like my grandmother’s lap,
comforting and warm. Even

nice kids said, “Just try
being straight,”
as if sexuality was
learning to like carrots.
It’s odd to talk about this.

I prefer the past
to be a box In the attic. Sometimes
I see it when I climb up
for wrapping paper. I’d love
to take it down and toss it out.

I can’t. The cardboard would break—
too much stuff
would get out.

Kenneth Pobo had two books out in 2015: Bend of Quiet from Blue Light Press and Booking Rooms in the Kuiper Belt from Urban Farmhouse Press. He teaches Creative Writing and English at Widener University in Pennsylvania.