Three Poems by Howie Good

Gun Nation

So I found myself in tears.
It’s an intricate dance.
On my way to Newtown,
I had to pull my car over
and take half a Xanax. This
is constantly happening.
Run Hide Fight. I can’t believe
I’m still alive. I always note
where the nearest exit is in
movie theaters. He may be
here. Or he may be over there.

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Seed text: https://www.theguardian.com/film/2016/nov/28/gun-violence-documentaries-91-percent-newtown-under-the-gun






Shelter in Place

While going to get the mail,
I just happen to look up,
and with all the leaves down,
notice for the first time  
in the diffuse light of a gray day
a dark, dripping mass
wedged between the trunk
and lifeless branches,
an abandoned nest that’s about
the size of a human heart,
another revealing detail
for the cartographer of hell
to add to the map.






This Sickness Unto Death

Almost every day
and night I have it.
I wake up with it
and sleep with it.

I sometimes go crazy
with the pain.

Then someone
suggested, “Eat,
like, an apple.”

Medicine is cheaper
than fruits here.

What gives?

Dark snow
spiraling down
and the eyes
facing the sky.


Seed text: Comments on the web page Home Remedies for Headache (www.top10homeremedies.com/home-remedies/home-remedies-for-headache.html)

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Bio: Howie Good's latest books are  A Ghost Sings, a Door Opens  from Another New Calligraphy and Robots vs. Kung Fu from AngelHouse Press.