Poetry

Howard

Howard

Howard

Where there is a Howard, there is a

Howard

How is the ard of Howard. Now, take two Howards and blend them
Into a large sugar bunny. What you will find is that you now have
One sweet sweet Howard. His name is Howard Cosell. He died
In 1995. He was seventy seven years old. He is not really named “Howard”
Now. He is named Jesus Christ, and he lives in infinity!

Howard

What is Howard?
Let us ask Howard.
Howard is everything
That isn’t Not-Howard,
He says. Good grief!
My leather penguin
Could have told me
That. Oh sorry–our
leather penguin.


Howard

Whenever I throw
A knife at the photo
Of Howard that hangs
In the dining room I
Miss badly and
Damage something
Expensive. Howard,
Howard, I’m moving
Your photo to your
Bedroom.

Howard

There isn’t any Howard, per se.
He keeps his money in purse A.

Howards End

I once went to
Howards End.
It was spooky.

Aaron Belz has published two collections of poems, The Bird Hoverer (BlazeVOX, 2007) and Lovely, Raspberry (Persea, 2010). A third, as yet untitled, is forthcoming from Persea.

*Photo courtesy of madmolecule