The Trouble with Being Born

The birds that feasted at my feeder last winter scattered sunflower seeds that are just beginning, somewhat triumphantly, to sprout, and I laughed to myself when I found them today at the very back of the garden, poking up like little periscopes, but still blind to every danger.
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When I see someone walking toward me, I try to be invisible. You just don’t know the threat they may pose. Are they contagious? Are they drunk or on drugs? Do they have a concealed weapon? What’s funny, though, is that if I traced my ancestry back far enough, I would probably discover I am everyone’s cousin.
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I always had doubts. Then, in 1996, three members of my family got cancer. In my dream, I dig them up, spray them down with concoctions, and then let them bake and dry and rot in the sun. Horror is everywhere. Lock your doors, lady.

Howie Good is the author most recently of Stick Figure Opera: 99 100-word Prose Poems from Cajun Mutt Press. He co-edits the online journals Unbroken and UnLost.

Categories: Poetry

Daily Drunk

Shawn Berman runs The Daily Drunk. You can follow him on Twitter @Sbb_writer.

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