Sweetest Little Head Case

Poems by Tripp Howell

ISBN 1-59948-030-1
Poetry Chapbook, 30 pages, $7

This title was selected for publication as a result of entering the 2005 MSR Annual Chapbook Contest.

About the Author

Samples

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Now Playing in the Parking Lot Across the Street

 

I awoke one morning to thunderous applause.
The whole town was in the parking lot across the street
where a giant projection screen was set up.
One woman walked away in tears, murmuring
something about the beauty of the flying scene.
I heard the waitress I have a crush on
say to her best friend, “I never knew he felt
that way about me.” Clearly this would not do.

I decided to never dream again.
The next morning they were booing
and throwing trash all over my lawn.
I thought they would leave me alone after that.
But the next morning the same thing happened.
And the morning after that.
It’s happened every morning since.
My town is relentless. They starve.
They need to see me become a superhero,
go to school naked, fall endlessly
into the arms of a swimsuit model.
I hate to disappoint them. I really do.

 

And the Compass Itself Was Art

 

Imagine if the royal cartographer
had never developed a drug habit,
hadn’t stopped seeing his psychiatrist,
if he hadn’t had those problems at home.

We would have known nothing
about the fishing fleets in the Sahara,
the polar bears populating Peru,
the Great Antarctic Rain Forest.

We may have wasted our voyages
of discovery looking instead only
for those boxes that hold Hawaii
and other assorted islands.

So much beauty and magic exist now
that it’s hard to imagine the world
without his misfortunes, his personal demons,
the uncountable angels dancing on the tip of Tasmania.

 

Why Grass Is Green and the Sky Is Not

 

I always looked up expecting
to see my name whenever
the skywriter flew over my town,

then went back to playing
and wondered why people
wanted to see those messages

instead of reading about
my latest tree-climbing adventure
or the sand castle I had just built.

I hope this explains why
every time I hear you
mention another man

it sounds like an engine turning
and the gasp of someone raising
her eyes to look above my head.

 

Memo Re: Identity, CC: Me

 

I wanted to write to you about
the usefulness of invisibility
when playing capture the flag
or hide and seek, just in case
you find yourself in a game
in the coming weeks.

I wanted to remind you to de-razor
your apples this Halloween.
You can use them to cut the threads
of your costume, to leave a trace
of your disguise behind in case
someone thinks they are following the real you.

I wanted to let you know about a plan I have
to make a documentary about biographers
who write biographies about documentary makers,
just so I can read about my life one day.

I wanted to suggest that you attend a banquet soon
in honor of anything and that you switch
everyone’s name cards when they’re not looking.
It will lead to some great conversations.

I wanted to tell you about a mirror I saw
in an antique store last weekend
and how I’m amazed at how
they always get it right.

I wanted to talk to you about a dream
I keep having where there’s a car wreck,
but no crowd gathers, there is only
one figure lying motionless in the dark,
and I can’t tell which one of us it is.

 

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Tripp Howell has a B.A. in English from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. His work has appeared in numerous online and print journals, including Main Street Rag, Iodine Poetry Journal, Churchyard, and Rock Salt Plum Review. He lives in Shelby, North Carolina, where he coaches soccer, mocks people, and makes up a lot of new words. This is his first chapbook.