HOWIE
GOOD
The
Roofers
for Gabriel
It isn’t the meaning
of these words
that matters
just the sound
like the hammering
from next door
a couple of roofers
on their knees
and racing the light
because it may be true
what they heard
tomorrow rain
A
Few of My Favorite Things
Furtive glances and whispers,
bare, bereft trees,
unfaithful gods lolling about
a galaxy of tinfoil stars,
the dead from the newspaper
receding into white space
while strangers stare
at their inscrutable backs,
on my machine a voice
I don’t recognize announcing
a new age, though horses scream,
and it’s night, and the creek
overflows as with sudden tears.
Order Lovesick, a poetry collection by Howie Good here.
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