DOOM and METHANE by Ken Pobo


What if doom

pulls into your spot in the parking lot?
You honk, say “That’s my space!”
Doom turns up the radio.  Music
booms through rolled-up windows.
You call Security.  They come
but nothing dislodges doom.
You shout at empty cars “It’s not fair!”
Doom doesn’t hear

or even see you.  You wish doom
would stop laughing,
know doom won’t.


Huge methane holes break
open in the Arctic, poison
sealing up the Earth’s lungs.

The holes belch more,
always more.  The sea floor
releases a liquid Pandora’s Box,
only hope doesn’t fly free at the end.
Hope can’t breathe in methane.

Methane makes plans
where we can’t see, teases
breath out of us for good.

Kenneth Pobo has a new book out from Circling Rivers called Loplop in a Red City, all ekphrastic poetry.  His work has appeared in: Mudfish, Philadelphia Stories, Two Thirds North, Rat’s Ass Review, Rhino, and elsewhere.  His favorite word in 2017: Resist!


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