A Little Prayer Against Annihilation
The better angels of our nature, drunk these last few
years on stolen altar wine, fall out of windows and
stagger off into the chorus of lights chanting, Holy,
holy, holy, but in a kind of unconvinced way, because it’s
not the season yet for U-pick blueberries, the
pearl-handled snow about as empathetic as the smoke used
to put a hive of bees to sleep, only to dream of brown
bears in black leather jackets running amuck in a
supermarket in California with the juvenile poetry of zip
guns and switch-blades.
The mind is
a treacherous friend,
raking lizards from trees
in the yard at night,
the stolen painting
stashed the whole time
in the house next door.
Howie Good is the author of a full-length poetry collection, Lovesick, and 21 print and digital poetry chapbooks.