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Howie Good

June 27, 2012




Plainclothesmen prowled the train station all night. Everyone arriving on the 8:10 looked like a fugitive. An old junky who made his living stealing overcoats was followed by a parade of children chanting his name. The cops must have been waiting for someone else. In those days, a suspect sat on a stool with a hot spotlight on him, and no matter how much I begged, my parents wouldn’t let me keep the motherless babies, slimy and blind, born in a dark corner of the garden.



I had just turned six. The universal symbol for handicapped hadn’t even been invented yet. New York was full of snow and poets. Kerouac considered it hypocrisy to think in fragments, but write in complete sentences. My parents got me piano lessons. They also believed in the therapeutic properties of art. If Goodwill wouldn’t accept a donation of books, someone would. I spent that Hanukkah watching Christmas lights blink on and off on the house across the street.




Howie Good, a journalism professor at SUNY New Paltz, is the author of the new poetry collection, Dreaming in Red, from Right Hand Pointing. All proceeds from the sale of the book go to a crisis center, which you can read about here: He is also the author of numerous chapbooks, including most recently The Devil’s Fuzzy Slippers from Flutter Press and Personal Myths from Writing Knights Press. He has two other chapbooks forthcoming, Fog Area from Dog on a Chain Press and The Death of Me from Pig Ear Press.

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