Haiku 31

Photo by Joe Iano.

Photo: “Morning Crossing,” by Joe Iano.


Dying alone? Well,
what is it but dying, plain,
plus a codicil?

She told me to leave
and I’m the only witness
to one good deed done.

Those bedbugs again,
spread through our laundry room grime
whom shall they favor?

Summer sensation
dry lower lip pulls back from
sticky incisors.

The old man’s left hand,
top of the driver’s headrest
slight shake as brakes squeak.

She ties on a branch
one purple paper flower
the sun to illume.

Running for the bus
little ones leading the way
for one panting Mom.

Stranded–no buses,
dead phone, disaster only
as far as my mind.

Take a short moment
and two or three more add up
to a longer crime.

After weeks of heat
the drizzle politely asks
permission to stay.

I’ve watched light, through blinds,
flicker in a summer wind…
ready to leave now.

Sister Fatima
says goodbye one last time
Wa-Alaikum-Salaam.

The fly, don’t know why,
pokes its way through bent grass leaves…
A search for purpose?

One worn black teddy bear
head slumped back, arms out; a nap
by the florist’s door.

His voice punches air,
butt parked on a blue towel,
singing Bill Withers.

In my “Bud Light” shirt
I’m in no shape to question
the two bus boozers.

Hydraulic bus lift
beeps its staggered triplets to
coffee shack hiphop.

His close-lipped laughter
my eyes closed, transmogrifies–
an owl’s twilight coo.

Ball rolls to a stop
beside heat-drooped yellowhorn…
nothing else happens