Poetry

Haiku 30

[media-credit name=”Genta Mochizawa” align=”alignnone” width=”640″]photo-1431051047106-f1e17d81042f[/media-credit]

A hummingbird’s come
to drink from the blue flowers
it missed the nude man.

Two bums, two beer cans
leering at women–for them
as good as it gets.

Life’s never so good–
Howard Tate’s “Shoot ‘Em All Down”
with gorp, post-midnight.

Piggy-eyed building,
windows were once much wider…
then, parsimony.

Cross-street construction
lets out the most enticing
chord I’ve heard all week.

I envy the young
what they haven’t lived, but not
what they will soon know.

If I had a hole
in the sky, I would still need
to keep my face there.

I smile, not at her
(though she’s not bad), but rather
an eastbound cool breeze.

Two steps from Murphy’s
smell of beer in summer air
finally fades out.

Upstairs, Bible class.
Downstairs, “Exile On Main St.”
I know where I stand.

I could hand my life
to the guy dancing in plaid,
back seat of the 7.

My afternoon shit–
Surprise! It’s now the high point
of each daily trudge.

Empty common room
drained of drama, of gossip…
one shutter cord taps.

Shoulders of concrete;
I shift away from the world
to buckle and crack.

Saturday morning,
a flute repeats its short tune
someone’s cooking pork.

And the mint-leaf plant
cares nothing for our wild plans…
only its breathing.