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The North
The Straitjackets
Winter 2010-11

Poetry:

                                       Howie Good


               

RECESSIONAL

The crowded

elevator disappeared

between floors.

 

Pedestrians stood

weeping at the crosswalk.

 

She still loves you,

said the old man

walking a dog on a rope.

 

I smelled the salt

of the nearby tears.

 

It took me two

or three matches

before the light

would stay lit.

 

 

YELLOW

 

    1

Everybody’s

morning

 

is different.

A seagull

 

doesn’t know

that it’s

 

a seagull,

only we

 

know that

and that its lidless

 

yellow eyes

are empty.

 

    2

Only in old movies

do lovers escape

 

on an ice floe.

Your mind

 

whispers

to you

 

something

I can’t hear.

 

Later,

you’ll use

 

the worn

rubber nub

 

of a yellow

no. 2 pencil

 

to erase what

you’ve just

written.


                REMEMBER THE ALAMO


The farts of a hopped-up Mustang echo down the street. Sam Houston could use a shot of mescal right about now. His hand trembles like a courier with urgent news. He doesn’t wish to discuss anymore the imposed simplicity of his early work. Agents in belted raincoats watch the border from nearby doorways. Although the sun is out, the nine-spotted ladybug crosses undetected.


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
, www.whiteknucklepress.com

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