Where It Hurts by Howie Good

I was about to cross the street when a man got out of his car and yelled, “You can’t make a revolution with silk gloves!” and then punched me in the eye. Through the haze of my surprise and pain, I saw sabers, white horses, red poppies. I saw the future of the Left. I saw children pressing their little faces against the glass. I saw cathedrals of fire. Fuck this, I thought, and started walking. That’s just human nature, how to get back to the Hotel of Forgotten Artists. One eye was enough.

Howie Good
Howie Good is the recipient of the 2015 Press Americana Prize for Poetry for his latest collection, Dangerous Acts Starring Unstable Elements.
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