Who but you would love
the clutter of meaningless detail,
the way the sun wriggles
on ripples of water?
I can say nothing about crying
that someone hasn’t already said.
A shadow,
expecting to find only a child at home,
climbs the stairs
with a mouthful of nails
and a cold-forged hammer.
_
Howie Good is the author of the full-length poetry collections Lovesick (Press Americana, 2009), Heart With a Dirty Windshield (BeWrite Books, 2010), and Everything Reminds Me of Me (Desperanto, 2011).
