I’m out of seed for the birds, and Jameson’s and firewood for us, and now it’s only a matter of time before I start to let words choose my meaning. Nothing can be repaired or retrieved, nothing, not by tomorrow, maybe not ever. It’s all to strange purpose, a dirty white van with caged dogs destined for gassing whimpering in the back. And if afterwards TV news crews stick their cameras and microphones in my face and ask for a comment, I would say what I think winter trees twisted up in pain would want to say.
Howie Good is the author of Failed Haiku, a poetry collection that is the co-winner of the 2021 Grey Book Press Chapbook Contest, scheduled for publication in summer 2022.
Eunoia Review 