Alligator Heart, Part 2
Sure, you’ve reasons to weep,
who hasn’t, but, please,
you still have me, with shelf
upon disorganized shelf of inventory,
so what if the sun sticks its thumb
in your eye and the ATM refuses you,
so what if the guests leave
for the wedding and never arrive,
from somewhere there’s loud
and incoherent hammering,
rockets with bright tails
tilting toward the void,
another solar system built just for you
out of love and cannibalized parts.
by Howie Good
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Categories: Journaling the Apocalypse
The third stanza is my favorite. I love the hugged assonance of ‘sun’ and ‘thumb’ and ‘stick’ and ‘its’. Even if this was done unintentionally, it has a fantastic rhythm to it.
Terrific poem, the last stanza nails it.
Love the”me” who has “shelf upon shelf of disorganized inventory” – and the imagery in general. Very nice.
I’d love to have this poem written for me! Great.
Ha! That’s cool. Loved it.