Howie Good

	Howie Good
	Howie Good, a journalism professor at the State University of New York at New Paltz, is the author of eight poetry chapbooks, including Tomorrowland (2008) from Achilles Chapbooks and Love Is a UFO (2009) from Pudding House. Two Poems (August 2009) Two Poems (April 2009)

Two Poems (August 20, 2009. Issue 8.) Visiting The Dead The gates closed at 5 p.m. It was barely noon, but already hot. I called her name. Here, she said and stepped out into the road. The sun went behind a cloud. I clicked the dead flashlight over and over as if this time it might work. Side Effects May Include self-attempts at a heart tattoo, problems with zippers, waking in the morning still drunk, dull visits from the better angel of your nature, unexplained lights, occupation by an army of mercenaries, a neighbor who keeps goats, fear of drowning in the bathtub curiously fat fingers, and, in severe cases, a soul like a broken shoelace. Table of Contents Two Poems (April 24, 2009. New Moon. Issue 4) Epitaph For A Dead Bouquet Minutes turn into days, days into nine leafless oaks, but here’s something I was interested to learn talking to another man in line: it’s possible to break your jaw merely by laughing. He smiled without showing his teeth, and I felt a familiar emptiness, as when voices float down at dusk from the barred windows of Juvenile Hall, or the shadow of the photographer falls crookedly across the child in a photo, or the heart, unsure quite what to believe, chokes on its own blood. In The Metro A face like a junkyard a face like the ominous corner of the room a face like a used teabag a face like autumn, musty with decaying leaves a face like a classmate's cough during an exam a face like a roaring TV when you're trying to sleep a face like water breathing a face like a snowball packed without gloves a face like freshly paved asphalt a face like a marching band in a funeral parlor a face like your stomach after a shot of vodka a face like the empty side of the bed a face like your most disturbing, innermost thought a face like everyone else's Note: This poem was constructed from blog posts by 20 students in my Advanced Literary Journalism course at SUNY New Paltz, edited and rearranged. Table of Contents

Howie Good, a journalism professor at the State University of New York at New Paltz, is the author of eight poetry chapbooks, including Tomorrowland (2008) from Achilles Chapbooks and Love Is a UFO (2009) from Pudding House.

Two Poems (August 2009)

Two Poems (April 2009)

Two Poems (August 20, 2009. Issue 8.)

Visiting The Dead

The gates closed at 5 p.m.
It was barely noon, but already hot.
I called her name. Here, she said
and stepped out into the road.
The sun went behind a cloud.
I clicked the dead flashlight over
and over as if this time it might work.

Side Effects May Include

self-attempts at a heart tattoo,
problems with zippers,
waking in the morning still drunk,
dull visits from the better angel of your nature,
unexplained lights,
occupation by an army of mercenaries,
a neighbor who keeps goats,
fear of drowning in the bathtub
curiously fat fingers, and, in severe cases,
a soul like a broken shoelace.

Table of Contents

Two Poems (April 24, 2009. New Moon. Issue 4)

Epitaph For A Dead Bouquet

Minutes turn into days, days into nine leafless oaks,
but here’s something I was interested to learn
talking to another man in line:
it’s possible to break your jaw merely by laughing.
He smiled without showing his teeth,
and I felt a familiar emptiness,
as when voices float down at dusk
from the barred windows of Juvenile Hall,
or the shadow of the photographer
falls crookedly across the child in a photo,
or the heart, unsure quite what to believe,
chokes on its own blood.

In The Metro

A face like a junkyard
a face like the ominous corner of the room

a face like a used teabag
a face like autumn, musty with decaying leaves

a face like a classmate's cough during an exam
a face like a roaring TV when you're trying to sleep

a face like water breathing
a face like a snowball packed without gloves

a face like freshly paved asphalt
a face like a marching band in a funeral parlor

a face like your stomach after a shot of vodka
a face like the empty side of the bed

a face like your most disturbing, innermost thought
a face like everyone else's

Note: This poem was constructed from blog posts by 20
students in my Advanced Literary Journalism course at SUNY
New Paltz, edited and rearranged.

Table of Contents