A Dog’s Life

I was 4, maybe 5, and afraid of dogs. They say dogs can sense fear. The German shepherd sprang at me as if originally trained for concentration camp duty. Everything went black. The doctors told my folks I might be left blind in one or both eyes. A fine black thread of anxiety runs through my life history. I cope, but only by exceeding the maximum daily recommended dosage. In Mississippi a man confesses to setting fire to a synagogue because of the “Jewish connection.” I strain against my collar, a dog on a chain.

It Isn’t Really Dada Unless the Cops Have to be Called

After lunch, I took a nap, just a short pause in the eerie music. I woke up with a start. The bitter almond smell of Zyklon B was wafting through the house. Where I live has never been a secret worth keeping, at least until now, when masked men lurk in ambush. The thesaurus lists the following synonyms: slavery, enslavement, servitude, subjugation, oppression. There are tumors no mix of therapies can shrink. I ended up, predictably perhaps, with a haggard, unwashed face and wearing clothes that weren’t my own. Just don’t ask a stranger to hold your place in line. Cocaine can turn anyone into an owl. I arrived almost in time to see it. 

^^^

HOWIE GOOD‘s poems have been widely published. His poetry collections include Bad for the Heart (Prolific Press) and Dark Specks in a Blue Sky (Another New Calligraphy). He is recipient of the 2015 Press Americana Prize for Poetry for his collection Dangerous Acts Starring Unstable Elements. Read more of his writing in Oblivioni.