My mother during one of her fits flushed my goldfish down the toilet while I was at school. This was long before computers ever challenged the supremacy of print. I had won the goldfish at a carnival by tossing a Ping-Pong ball into the fish’s bowl. A hostile public was creeping down a white sand beach the whole time. I have memories of a star-like crack in a windshield, stick figures drawn on toilet paper, floors overflowing with blood. If it weren’t for these things, I might have grown up to be many people talking all at once about love.
The Secret Goldfish
Howie Good‘s latest book is Frowny Face, a mix of his prose poems and collages from Redhawk Publications. He co-edits the online journal UnLost, dedicated to found poetry.