« Back to issue 46

Swans On The Pond


The silent way
they glided
side by side,

I couldn’t decide
which one
was the lover,

which one
the beloved.  

Wherever you went,
a white attic room
with one small window followed.

The dimwits and dipshits
knew your name,
but only I knew your location,

and that afterward
we’d fall asleep,
sometimes entwined.

My sadness grows fatter
than a circle
when we make love,

a backyard telescope,

just like spring
but imbued
with the red of fall.

Discuss    About the Author   Read More

About Howie Good

Howie Good resides in the vortex of a bad karma tornado.


You must be a Red Fez member to comment.
There are no comments yet...

Slam Family 2003:

ALL OF US meet in a dingy room atop a restaurant bar in downtown Chicago. It is the tail end of summer, the August humidity sticks to my skin. This is my first year at the National Poetry Slam and I can’t believe I’m in this room with my San...
Slam Family 2003
by E.R. Sanchez