The sea drank to excess. Spies profited. The guns opened up. A volley of human heads bombarded the houses across the water.
Everywhere I go, the same thing: it isn’t raining, but later it might.
The moment you look away, everything becomes something else – shipwreck, massacre, plague. I start to make a list. In olden days, the overseer’s lash was a dried bull’s penis. Galley slaves, chained to their oars, would shit where they sat.
We were stranded for lack of fourteen trees for masts. Men dressed in leopard skins with eagle headdresses began running toward us. You made some smart remark, but then flinched at the black weight of my cannonball heart.
BIO: 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).