BRYON D. HOWELL

The Poetry Of..
Bryon D. Howell.......................................

ON GETTING WORSE AS
TIME MARCHES ON

You always looked up
to your mother
since your dad

took off.

Your mom did the best
she could
looking up to as
many men

as possible.

You know,
the ones with
the rocks:

Both the ones she
wore,
and the ones -
she smoked.

She always did
her best,
made sure you had

it all.

When you were
just six,
you asked her how

she did it.

You told her she's
your hero
and wanted to
be just

like her.

You didn't realize
what a sense
of humor,
life can sometimes

have.

Doesn't matter.

Just keep crushing
those rocks
In the rec yard.

Someday you'll
figure it
out.

By then
you might even -

be free.

A POEM ABOUT
UNCONDITIONAL LOVE
AND THE WACKOS WHO PASS

I'll wake up to leave
at 5:30 AM

each morning.

I'll make my bed,
pack my fitted sheet and
pillowcase,
and switch my trunks

to jeans.

I'll briskly walk to the
facilities,
proceed to brush
my teeth,
throwing on

my ball-cap backwards.

I'll then walk twice
as briskly to the
kitchen,
grab hold of my orange
cooler,
carrying it and
my black night
bag out the two

front doors.

It will be
about 5:45.
The bus will
arrive
around 6.

I'll walk across the
street,
open that orange
cooler,
removing four slices
of bread.

From out of
nowhere,
pigeons, sparrows and crows
will swoop down,
hop brazenly
over,
and glance along

me sideways.

I'll never have rushed
so hard in
my life,
just to feed
a handful

of birds.

I'll carelessly endure
the looks of the
usual drivers,
the ones who gnash
their teeth,
and have nothing but
contempt for anyone
with a heart,
who'll support
these pests,
yet resides at
a shelter

himself.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY
FOR YOU

Birthdays are
supposed to be a
time of joy and

celebration.

It's a time for hope -

and smiles.

I can't for the life
of me,
figure out why
someone would send
anyone flowers,
reminding them that someday -

everything dies.

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