Haiku 57

Sat still his whole life…
at the last second–one arm
closer to the stars

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Marchers gone home…
I watch steady storm spatter
take the concrete

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Tenth week of the plague…
they pull down their masks
to talk over the dog

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Beard to his belt
and one black boot halfway
onto the bus

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Autumn of the heart…
if we’re all dead, who takes stock
of the curled leaves?

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Lightbulb not like dawn,
He leaves Him to zip up…
grit on both boots

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Hardly the Fourth,
but bombs boom and sparks
skitter on sidewalk

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Tenth week of the plague…
the wind turns a book’s pages,
Broadway concrete

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Tenth week of the plague…
dog hunches and runs
like a fugitive

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Tenth week of the plague
a bottle breaks loose on the bus…
rolls where it will

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The General sleeps
patio awning rolled back,
courting sunburn

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Tenth week of the plague…
the rocking orange tent gives way–
a black child, black braids

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Tenth week of the plague…
I wait to see if the mask
drops past his nostrils

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Tenth week of the plague…
rapper holds phone to one ear
for his backing track

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Tenth week of the plague…
the train knows the lake route–
I don’t

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Tenth week of the plague,
the train’s air-conditioned, but…
her Japanese fan

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“I’ve got appointments…
four doctors in the next month–
how behind I am!”

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Tenth week of the plague…
the crows–so saucy these days!
dive straight down

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Tenth week of the plague…
barbershop child screams
like steel on marble

☯︎

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