Howie Good

On Being Told “You Look Depressed”

Some days I just wake up sad
as if a crow has been at the window

watching me sleep.

Or because the blade of the gravedigger’s
shovel rang all night against rock.

Now the landlady blocks the stairs
with large and tragic gestures,

demanding to know is it true
there’s a difference, however subtle,

between recant and regret.

So many questions, and the only answer
the torn envelope dawn came in.

Song for Recessionary Times

The days pass in shaving my beard
and then growing it back,

but notwithstanding the tall buildings,
it’s spring by the calendar

and lewd as the hot, blue tongue
of an acetylene torch.