S.H. Woodgeard
A recent MFA graduate, S.H. Woodgeard lives and writes out of the American Southwest. He can be found on Twitter @shhhwoodgeard.
Cachet
My ex needed a boyfriend
and any boy would do
so he found me
Relationship as point of pride
public display, advertisement
the details—unimportant
Brings you low to know
you’re some mannequin
That it’s been all for show
Bright and staged
an image for the screen
Feeling empty and alone
You’re told, you have it all
followers, a viral stream
you have cachet
And so you learn to accept
a kind of love
that’s no finer than porn
Is It Safe?
Has anyone asked if it’s safe to have so many sculptures in a place so prone to tornadoes?
Where they could be ripped up, unearthed, and sent torpedoing into the air?
But they won’t be sent to OZ
They’ll come crashing back down, onto your friends, your family—your car
Bronze, stone, concrete missiles
Tumbling oblivion from the sky
With faces you’d recognize
Familiar from centuries past
The same old, white faces, smiling