Howie Good

Ambrose Bierce Walks at Midnight

I recognized him from his picture in an old literature textbook. It had been over 100 years since he had mysteriously disappeared across the border. I asked where he had gone and why and what he had done there. He wouldn’t answer. When I added I was a big fan of his writing, especially the Civil War tales, he just snickered. I didn’t know what to say next but felt I had to say something. “You like being a ghost?” I asked. He gave me a sly little grin. “You get to sleep all day,” he said, “so you can work at night.”

Origin Story

Puffed up with pride of authorship, I showed the newspaper clipping, with my name and age, 13, at the bottom in festive italics, to Mr. Eakely, my English teacher. He didn’t even pretend to read it. “What’s that?” he just said, pointing at the 13. “Your IQ?” My head rocked back as if I had been struck. The rest of the morning was strangely garbled. Car. Boat. Fire. Adrift.

Homicide

The TV detective with the Basset Hound face stands on the riverbank, staring glumly down at the mutilated corpse of a schoolgirl dumped there overnight. He sighs and then pats his pockets for his cigarettes. Existence for me also is a hackneyed series of performative gestures. I read somewhere that 6-foot-4 Jeff Goldblum is the tallest actor in Hollywood. Such facts accumulate quickly and in overwhelming variety, a function of our dysfunctional times. You know what I need? I don’t either. The headline says, “Pope Prays for Peace.” Deep red drops of blood drip on a bunch of white daisies.

Howie Good's latest poetry book is The Horse Were Beautiful (2022), available from Grey Book Press.