Howie Good

There are so many cute little blondes that sometimes I confuse their names. Caffeine withdrawal intensifies the effect. Only later was the true source of the buzzing I heard revealed. And I had thought it was a winged horse trapped behind the glass! It’s the kind of thing I like to ponder as I walk down to the corner mailbox, passing trees and windows and a dog chewing on a police whistle. I hardly even care if the mailbox isn’t there, or if it is, that I can’t see it.

©2012 This work is the property of the author.


Posted on September 28, 2012, in Howie Good, POETRY and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.

  1. I’m fast becoming a fan of Howie Good’s poetry. You can find his chapbook, from whence this comes, at Fowlpox press.

    Read his other poem on MM by clicking the link:

  2. Who isn’t a fan of Howie’s poetry? Loving it!

  3. Enamored by the buzz and or blonde or both Howie Good goes to the mail as a male boxed in with intoxication and inebriated by an honest narrative shot of a prose poem.

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