Two Poems
Howie Good

That's That

Must be
the words

she's using,

with helpless
little hands.

The Next World

Small fires began.
Mothers were accused

of unsuitable compassion.
The paper trembled.
Old people still had time

to sit in a sidewalk café
and look in shop windows.

We abandoned
darkness for color.

Everyone was against everyone.

Like a gambler with a bad hand,
she kissed Paul in the rain.