How can love be stolen?
It’s not like a pie
when the thief comes by
and grabs it when the widow
is downstairs pulling laundry
from the dryer—or
is it? You stole me
from my life of everyday
will be like everyday until I die.
I hadn’t locked up my heart—
you took it and ran. Maybe
I stole yours too. You said
you thought of your life then
as a tip left on a table.
I scooped up the dough
and said let’s go. Out for pie.
Which we did, red cherries
and a flaky crust. It still is,
27 years later,
warm from the oven,
ice cream melting on top.
Kenneth Pobo has a new book forthcoming from Clare Songbirds Publishing House called The Antlantis Hit Parade. His work has appeared in: Hawaii Review, Amsterdam Review, The Queer South Anthology, Nimrod, and elsewhere.
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