Haiku 47

Image by Andrew Hamlin.
Image by Andrew Hamlin.

A wheel, broken
but not so you would notice
dazzles travelers

Pullman porter
sits open-handed and still
his eyes, twin spirals

Solitary breath
in the fetid men’s room
stink doctors long gone

A branch’s shadow
wavers at 3 am
over the dead lamp

The politician
says it isn’t either/or
as I hide from the storm

One dead movie star’s
life story, tossed on the lawn
to rot with spring rain

Afternoon squall
fills the shot glasses left out
on the picnic bench

Those muddy clothes
thrown off by the universe
…who’ll stack the laundry?

Again, that siren
mixed with the church band’s cymbal
Friday afternoon

And it’s one wet crunch
as though the sidewalk outside
broke half a molar

On this half-moon night
a spider, too small for the eye
rests in silver

The tree awaits an axe
with its same indifference
to the soldier’s foot

Two old lovers,
two Queen Anne buses–talk?
But what would I say?

“Cosmic Energy”
Should be measured like all else
let’s stay sensible

“I’m okay, all right,”
weak voice beneath the blanket–
I don’t see his face

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