by Howie Good
I walk past spies and assassins without knowing it, and no matter into which doorway I step, there’s a heap of rags that might be a person. Everywhere I go I meet men with the same name. "What happened?" I ask. Doesn’t matter, they say. Now that the moon has risen the yellow of crime scene tape, I don’t believe them. To teach superstition as truth is a terrible thing.
Howie Good, a journalism professor at the State University of New York at New Paltz, is the author of six poetry chapbooks, most recently Tomorrowland (2008) from Achilles Chapbooks.