by Howie Good
“You aren’t quite right for us,” he says.
He isn’t looking at me when he says it.
He’s looking at the screen of his cell phone.
Where to now?
It’s a hot day, and it promises to get hotter.
I start walking.
The folder tucked under my arm
might as well be empty for all the good
the papers inside have done me.
A woman up ahead
has a lovely, heart-shaped ass.
I can feel the sweat break out on my back.
I’m not sure this is the right direction.
My legs ache.
There’s a metallic taste in my mouth
I tell myself this is the right direction.
I breathe in, I breathe out.
Etc. and so on.
*check out Howie's new chapbook:
- ► 2010 (221)
- ► 2009 (484)
- our waitress at the farm themed restaurant
- SquamousCell Carcinoma
- HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS
- my father's drawer in the basement
- driving the wedge
- & alarm bells keep ringing
- getting dirty
- Jack Palance
- PUMP AND LADDER
- today, at the hospital
- what makes their eyes go dead?
- chapter one of my seventeenth life
- She Doesn’t Deserve This
- Bourbon Burlesque
- FORTUNATE SON
- DID WE?
- A moment in time
- Concrete jungle
- LOOKING FOR WORK, WEEK 5
- Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
- What I Saw When I Thought I Was Having a Heart-Att...
- Untitled Dream That Led Me To Stop Believing
- No Catchy Title
- Toe Salad
- sipping a screwdriver at the ghetto bar half mile ...
- Mary through the wall
- George W. Bush Ate My Pussy Then Paid Me $10,000
- monarchy no more
- My Train
- I felt like a hamburger
- NOT YET, BUT SOON
- Fractured Like Thin Glass And Glued Together Again...
- Ho-sehs run
- Franco Nero
- The Lakeside Lounge
- something like chekhov
- water on the brain
- ▼ December (41)