Howie Good – Two Poems

Radio of Sunshine

The name of the thing disguises the thing itself—
the rip tide, for example, that everyone truculently calls
an undertow, and though sometimes out of strength
and almost always out of contention, please believe me
and the forecast on the radio of sunshine later.


The Wilderness


General Grant lit a cigar.

Provisionally alive recruits
attacked across a field
knee-deep in Union dead.

General Grant sat down
on a tree stump and began
to whittle a stick.


I saw no dead men
that night

whose pockets
had not been turned

inside out.

Beautiful world,
hold me while I’m naked.