The Titanic Sails at Dawn

Howie Good

My maternal grandparents arrived in America

on a ship built in the same shipyard as the Titanic.

All these years later, white judges in black robes

are still pondering who was ultimately responsible.

Sometimes they burst into tears, sometimes into laughter.

Often they slurp Chivas Regal straight from the bottle,

and when they do, destroying angels clink glasses.

 
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Howie Good is the author of THE DEATH ROW SHUFFLE, a poetry collection forthcoming from Finishing Line Press.

Five Poems

Howie Good

Burning Down the Night

Tell me where about I might find it, the thing
that blazed abroad and failed. A milky haze
hangs between me and you, and I have no one
else with whom to exchange hushed glances.
Fruit, children, seasons disappear in the company
of bastards and imbeciles. This is no ordinary fire
but what turns the sky somewhere a darker blue,
the only other sounds the sounds that lovers make.

 

Philosophy for the Shallow

Despite getting
only three hours sleep,
this is not so bad,

drinking coffee
from a thick mug
at the kitchen table
while scratching
the dog’s head

and watching out
the back window
a big woodpecker
creep up the tree trunk
and the sunrise
turn the tree trunk
to a pillar of gold.

 

First Encounter Beach Revisited

Late afternoon,
low tide,

a red dog
running
along
the shore

where
the Nauset
first encountered
the Pilgrims

scatters
clans
of gulls

while
its owner
futilely
calls it back.

 

‘Rommel Drives on Deep into Egypt’

The glue has yellowed and cracked,
and now almost every time
I open the book, more poems fall out,

but what’s it matter, anyway,
I think to myself, if an old young man
in a stocking cap and camo,

a leaf blower strapped on his back,
is blasting leaves regardless
of the fast fading daylight,

an incautious conjurer inspiring
the last raggedy remnants
of summer to get up and dance.

 

Nocturne in the Afternoon

The girl in the red coat was playing
on the sidewalk in front of her house
A storm was coming covered with fur
and matted feathers and that was why
it was dark and not the creepy older man
giggling uncontrollably to himself

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Howie Good recipient of the 2015 Press Americana Prize for Poetry for his forthcoming collection Dangerous Acts Starring Unstable Elements.