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[Poetry] Two Poems by Kenton K. Yee

Updated: Aug 25, 2023


The surf is surging salt and quake,

blue turned white like suds from soap,

defects bearing mites afloat

with curly languid waves of hair

atop a dudette diving a bomb,

spitting curses only sharks can hear

of vapor spraying through downy flakes

as though flung off of lapping tides

and Chick would go—his short, quick strokes

scrolling frame by frame

like wild flames dance,

flouncing grace and terror on local staff

with kids to feed.


A lone albatross and a contrail

sprout from SFO. The blood-soaked sky

is yellowing too soon. The morning boats

won’t come for some time.

White daggers off the lapping water,

apple cider vinegaron my eyes.

Blink. A flash

and something flaps onboard.

I do the jitterbug

badly. Flail.

It’s gone!

Whew. I worry too much. Who notices

a little dinghy anyway? An albatross

is just a bird. If only I could stop for OJ

and waffles. Should’ve brought a mug

of hot cocoa. No one could’ve seen me.

Dawn’s lonely light. Even the currents

are going my way.

Yellow and blue nothingness.

Orange, orange all over.

Kenton K. Yee writes from Northern California. A former Columbia University faculty member, his recent poetry appears in Plume Poetry, Rattle, Threepenny Review, TAB Journal, Constellations, Sugar House Review, Mantis, Berkeley Poetry Review, SLANT, Quarter After Eight, Analog Science Fiction & Fact, Cutthroat, and others. Yee holds a theoretical physics PhD from UCLA and Stanford law and business degrees.


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