And another haiku-ish thing
just to apologize
to you
my dear readers
for inundating you
in my (silly?) hope
of still posting
63 while I am 63.
(Yes, I am counting
this one, too.)
Clinging? (44)
Reply
Spontaneous Combustion? (43)
“For God’s sake,” Biden says
“this man cannot remain in power.”
I don’t have all the details
(unwise, maybe, for a president)
but it makes me like him more.
Midmorning Snack (42)
This time I don’t see the insects
(gnats, maybe? no-see-ums?)
but twice
I watch
the lizard dart across the gray cement
in my corner of my mother’s back yard.
Dart and gobble.
Dart and gobble.
It makes me happy for him.
How did I live so long
among lizards
without ever seeing this?
Like Playing Hooky (41)
This cold, steady rain
so needed
sparks glee in me
back in bed
with my tea.
In Solidarity (40)
These bands of blue and yellow
must be Ukraine’s flag, I think
when I see them
in the Lalo Alcaraz strip today
How do we sit
inside ourselves
with this?
(How do we fit inside our skin?)
My Drug (39)
I drink spearmint tea
to drink less yerba maté
but, still, ah—
my one
sanctioned
cup
is green and golden bliss.
Accompanied (38)
The moon muted by clouds
late dusk
me trudging up the steep street
(it’s a fucking 90-degree angle,
I say, angry to be prodded to walk)
I wonder if it’s so hard to climb this hill
because I am weighted down by my anger
or if it is only because I carry with me
the grief of a lifetime
but the waxing moon carries me in turn
earthworm moon
ghost moon
and I am glad for the company
as I climb.
No Holds Barred 