Fall 2010, Volume 9

Poetry by Howie Good

Notes For a Poem That Will Never Be Written 

The moment
you look away,

everything becomes
something else,

Swedish ball

the sound
of pounding

on the door
maids waiting

at bus stops,
the golden oak

that served
as the hanging


You start
to make

a list of all
the things

night knows,
but stop

at a better

for fucking.

White light floods
the engine room.

All love is piracy,
the compass

in a criminal rage,
good boys and girls

walking the plank,
the heart dragging 

dead oceans
with torn nets.

A goat,
a chicken,

and a fox

a river
in a boat

pass an Uncle
Sam on stilts

taking slow-
motion strides.

The County Fair

with the sound

of a shell
being jacked

into the chamber.
Don’t be afraid

to shoot
through a wall

or door either.
And always

the black-faced

sheep know
all kitchens have

large knives.

Bad Timing

The fires drove
the coyotes down

from the hills.
I never realized

until I read it
that the shorter

the shells,
the more rounds

you can load. 
We should have

left before what
I took for a tree

turned back
into a man.

A Tiny Question

The weather hasn’t
been cooperating.

Fire leaps the barriers.
With every breath,

we risk an unwanted
invitation. You can’t

remember the name
of that principle

of physics either.
Back then, you were

you and someone else.
I have a question.

It’s three months.
Why isn’t my eye

any better


BIO: Howie Good is the author of a full-length poetry collection, Lovesick, and 21 print and digital poetry chapbooks. With Dale Wisely, he is the co-founder of White Knuckle Press, http://www.whiteknucklepress.com