Elegy for a Camellia

The grouchy sky slumps
in a gray coat. Clouds
look like they don’t want
to be touched. It’s time
to toss out more seed.
Over coffee I watched
ten morning doves
peck at the ground, soft coos
just beyond the kitchen window.

On the way, oh no,
the camellia, deer sheered,
every bud eaten off.
Something light
red in me turns black.

Spring will haul its
blossom truck to the yard,
a dead camellia
by creaky wheels.

***

Kenneth Pobo has a new book forthcoming in May from Circling Rivers called Loplop in a Red City.  His work has appeared in: Mudfish, Nimrod, Cordite, Hawaii Review, and elsewhere.