Howie Good

H o w i e   G o o d

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An American Dream

All night I follow

the same path

the bullet traveled,

& when I wake

before light,

there’s the heavy metal music

of garbage men

banging garbage cans.

Unfinished Furniture

You want to ask

if there was

a loud splash

when that boy

fell out of the sky.

You want me

to tell you

where he kept

the amphetamines

that he used.

Sorry. Don’t know.

But I got paint

on my shirt

and pants,

a color called

Lighthouse Shadows.

The Blue Hour

God Has a Big Eraser,

the letters spelled out just before fading.

The tender light of twilight was leaking away.

There were people on the street,

but they scrupulously avoided my eyes.

Shadows invited everyone in.

And such music! Like falling water

or the roundness of a woman’s breast.