Fifteen (15) Haiku – Homeless
June 20, 2023
In the train’s window
I watch his tired reflection
slowly roll a joint.
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Hanging from the tree
like an undercover leaf,
a light-green poo bag.
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Cardbored nothingness
tugging at an ingrown hair—
most deaths, so silent.
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An oily, brown rag
hanging from subway rafters
like a bat nightmare.
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The blue tarp billows
as if trying to digest
the dumpster’s garbage.
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A girl with long dreads
wears a homemade Sublime shirt—
totally on brand.
***
A 34th street station haiku:
Streaming down the beam
like Rapunzel’s greasy hair,
caustic, yellow stains.
***
A waft of Wendy’s
slides my spirits underneath
a poised heating lamp.
***
A blue combo lock
left stuttering on the curb—
“7, 7, 7, 7, 8”
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Winter feigning spring—
a Big Mac wrapper blossoms,
revealing a roach.
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An Astoria, Queens haiku:
A few old Greek men
holding court in Burger King—
so much forearm hair.
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A cop throws away
a pack of Parliament Lights
like a little bitch.
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The socialite’s blouse
matches the rag wrapped around
the homeless man’s boot.
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Lightning cracks like an
elbow drop off the top rope.
Two of my cats hide.
***
An orange Hummer
parked next to a fire hydrant—
small dick energy.
***