Poetry by Howie Good

The Sayings of Paranoid Doomsday Theorists

When I look out over the woods from my window here, we no longer have wolves or panthers or black bears wandering around. Just what the hell are we going to do about it? In my life I’ve worked really hard not to be down, but then a tree bursts through the wall and into the room. This is a big change. Maps will need to be redrawn. Silence is the moment when I see the next step. Anyone can be a cop. And anyone can turn out to be a criminal.

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We were just standing there when we heard a tremendous rumbling. The neighbor’s dog was swept away. A child was swept away. I couldn’t get in touch with my parents. You have to think of all the sounds like they’re a symphony, otherwise you go a bit crazy. But, hey, there’s hope. What has a beginning will have an ending, eventually. We’re always ready, washed and clean – at night, during the day, always ready to race there. Because we’re not heartless people. That’s what’s important. We’ve read many times in newspapers of some kind of shooting happening, and our eyes started to burn.

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They hustled me into their car. I was like, “Oh my God.” They started beating me. Horrible things occurred. I wanted to burn myself because I was burning inside. The crunching noise, I guess, was teeth scraping against my skull. It lasted a really long time. Suddenly, there were gunshots and everyone started pulling down the shutters of their shops and running for their life. I didn’t think twice. I managed to escape, but when I saw the police station in front of me, it got worse. You’re not sure what you’re going to find there. It’s only water in the teardrop of a stranger.



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How to Cure Trigger Finger

One day I was walking and I saw one of the janitors dressed up in a cheerleader outfit and wearing fairy wings, and I said to him, “Oh, are you going to a costume party tonight?” And he said, “No, I’m going to dodgeball.” This kind of stuff doesn’t usually happen in little towns. If you designed it from scratch, you wouldn’t have designed it the way it is. Close your eyes and just breathe, just breathe. There’s nothing left to steal. Something told me to do pull-ups. Or ram into people in the street. Painkillers didn’t help. It was nonstop, the worst. I lost two fingers. They are completely gone. It’s hard not to see God in that.




The Stress Factory

Houses had been torn down to make room for a stalled freeway project. I remember the dead grass and how the pink popped against the brownish green as I was putting down the paint. If they board this up, I have to start again. That's just the reality. I'm trapped here now with my worn-out hands. Bureaucracy, weather, roads just get worse and worse. How can a woman out in the street in her pajamas seeking assistance from police be shot like that?  The promise of “never again” has proven hard to keep. We’re a lot of people crammed into a very small space. I’ve had two years of absolute violation of my right to peace and quiet. If the condition doesn’t kill you, the stress of having it does.

Bio: Howie Good, a journalism professor at SUNY New Paltz, is the author of The Loser’s Guide to Street Fighting, winner of the 2017 Lorien Prize for Poetry from Thoughtcrime Press, and Dangerous Acts Starring Unstable Elements, winner of the 2015 Press Americana Prize for Poetry. He co-edits White Knuckle Press with Dale Wisely. 

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