Howie Good

"Rommel Drives on Deep Into Egypt"

The glue that held

the pages has crumbled,

and now every time

I open the book,

more poems fall out.

I slip them back in

without regard

for their original order.

What’s it matter, anyway,

on a summer night

in the country,

with all those things singing

outside the window?

 

 

 

 

 

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ISSUE 96
Not Even Playing

 

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