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Paint Each Other Into Corners Poem


by Ken Pobo
We paint each other
into corners with each
"I love you."  A challenge.
You're supposed to say it

back.  With the exact same
intonation, same oomph.
It's physics, bub.  Action,
reaction.  Equality.  Yeah,

right.  We stare at each
other's sloppy painter's
pants on the floor,
you in one corner naked,

me in another naked,
words, cigarette ash
floating between us,
though neither of us smokes,

I love you, yes, I love you,
there--we've said it
again, places confirmed,
paint dried.



Rumor has it that Tyrone
couldn't say no
to men or women, that his

heels often pointed
toward many ceilings
when he wasn't on the set--

afraid to hurt
anyone's feelings, so he said
yes, yes, yes,

and Tyrone, hot as hell
in Blood and Sand,
how sporting of him to be

so agreeable, to share
his body's wealth
instead of hoarding it

like it was some kind of
club that only admitted
the rich.

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