must be a very old man
who sits on a stool
in the shade of a sidewalk tree,
now & again dozing off,
his stubbly chin
dropping onto his chest,
while not far away
bat-winged dogs
devour the schoolchildren
he’s just too full
to devour himself.
All proceeds from Howie Good's latest book of poetry, Fugitive Pieces (Right Hand Press), go to the Food Bank of the Hudson Valley.
