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Anticipation of Spring

They take my shoelaces and belt away.
On the wall is a clock without numbers or hands.
The pendulum moves slower and slower.
Professional advice is slippery. Tears are slippery.
I want to slip out of this place to go to another
where it never rains. Not just anyone can go.
You need a reason – the flat light, the still wind,
the white sky like an empty canvas. There is
some kind of holiday there, too, that starts
with grains of dust and ends with ox-eyed daisies.

Howie Good is the author of more than a dozen poetry collections, including most recently Beautiful Decay from Another New Calligraphy and Fugitive PiecesZ from Right Hand Pointing Press.