sideways in any room
June 21st, 2010
2 poems by Howie Good
Still Burning
I pass an hour rearranging chunks of the alphabet.
The distant tramping of the dead rattles the window.
I wave to our mailman. He doesn’t wave back.
The furniture scuttles sideways in any room
the death squad enters. They take away the neighbor
who mowed his grass at night. World War II tanks
are still burning. I should think about something else –
island women, naked to the waist, kneeling down
to bathe their wounded eyes in the river of dreams.
Self-Portrait with Dog
Stupid man, to approach
a strange dog with my hand out!
What did I think would happen?
And just this morning I ate
the one strawberry from our garden
the wild rabbits didn’t get.