Art

Fifteen (15) Haiku – Homeless

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.

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A 34th street station haiku:

Streaming down the beam 
like Rapunzel’s greasy hair,
caustic, yellow stains.

 

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A waft of Wendy’s 
slides my spirits underneath 
a poised heating lamp.

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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.

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An orange Hummer
parked next to a fire hydrant—
small dick energy.

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