Dry, brown pine needles drop off the tree onto the tarmac. The police watch from a safe distance. A fox goes back and covers his tracks. Less than a week later, a museum worker discovers a Da Vinci sketch of an electric car in an old trunk in the attic. A man with a plummy accent says when the reporter asks that it’s like “driving a computer.” Every morning, and sometimes again at night, there’s more to come. The body is made up of so many different things, and the things that come out of supernovas are the very same things that we have inside of us. Our parents would be proud if they weren’t dead. 


Howie Good is a Cape Cod-based writer. His newest poetry collection, Heart-Shape Hole, which also includes examples of his handmade collages, is forthcoming from Laughing Ronin Press.