WHATEVER HAPPENED TO BABY JANE (1962) – Kenneth Pobo

Sometimes I’m the slattern 

serving a dead rat to my sister.  

At the bank I want the teller 

to recognize me.  Nobody knows 

who I am.  Who am I? 

Knowing who you are 

is impossible.  We get a glimpse 

and run screaming away.  

Sometimes I’m longsuffering.  

I live in the past.  I was wonderful 

for a few years.    

My sister and I share a darkness, 

a night so long that it covers us 

both in a shroud.  

A colorful shroud, warm, 

on a winter day that will never 

know spring.