In Memoriam

Bryon D. Howell

Older men

have always found themselves

attracted to me

for some reason.

When I would go out to the

bar,

I could always count on

at least two or three of those

troll-under-the-bridge-like,

semi-retired Marlboro men,

spending the better part

of their time, night and

cash on me,

trying to get me piss drunk

/or sky high,

and attempting to

lure me

into going home with them -

to infect me,

with God knew what.

As anally-retentive about

cleaning house

as I have always been,

I've never been intrigued,

not even in the slightest,

of having to dust

something -

before I polish it.

Besides,

if you ask me,

the Freddy Mercury look

should have

died years ago

right along -

with Freddy Mercury.

A POEM ABOUT SWIFT JUSTICE

by Bryan D. Howell

It took them years
to approve, arrange
and carry out
the snuffing
on the New Haven Coliseum,
in Connecticut,
but they finally
did it.

On the day of the
implosion,
some onlookers were
overwhelmed,
screaming and bucking
with joy.

A select
few
were melancholy
and misty-eyed.

It isn't every day in
New Haven
you get to watch strangers
shoving M-80's
into the vagina
of this town
and listening to everyone
gasp with pleasure
as it's blown to hell.

It goes to
show you ...
it's always best to abort
some children
long after they've been
removed -

from the womb.

Bryon D. Howell is a poet currently residing in New Haven, Connecticut. He has been writing poetry for a great number of years. Recently, work of his has appeared in Unlikely Stories, poeticdiversity, and Censored Poets.