Howie Good

Love and Late Capitalism

There are golden panels on the courthouse façade. Inside it’s dark. People throw punches. Having a woman correct a man on a “Godfather” fact would be surprising. Feel free to elaborate on what this says about modern society, last seen sitting silently with his disturbed and toothless wife. But now they need to have a baby immediately.

She has rested her hand very naturally on her protruding belly since we learned she was pregnant. Giving her that little Lenin pin was absolutely a gesture of love. She sure sneaked up on us, with her bangs, her sweet plaintive eyes, her down vests. What’s the message here, if there is one? Oh how I wish it would rain, rain, rain.

It’s no longer clear what constitutes progress. You could be pelted with a sandal. You could be chained up and forced to listen to a terrorist having sex with the wife he hasn’t seen in three years. You could be the man whose nose she appears to have broken. You could be under the influence of whatever drug was substituted for your usual prescription. One wonders how many are trolling Internet dating sites at this very moment. Call me an optimist, a sleepy head, a weasel, things that one bad storm will easily wash away, but the nuns scattering was a nice touch.

All proceeds from Howie Good's latest book of poetry, Fugitive Pieces (Right Hand Press, 2014), go to the Food Bank of the Hudson Valley. Visit http://www.righthandpointing.net/#!e-chapbooks/c1qi1.
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