Thursday, October 27, 2016

Haiku

Jesus died for your 
sins, and the dinosaurs died
for your gasoline.

Less light falls today,
an early bed, a chance to
turn in, turn inward.

Seats for seven, but
six are empty—the car’s solace
for the sole driver.

Men in suits talk tough,
thousands of miles from the
soldier on fire.

War is not fought from
a chair; countries are not led
from the battlefield.

Don’t imitate me—
It’s like an echo, always
coming in second. 

The annoying fly—
I’d let you live if you stayed
slightly out of reach.

In the museum, 
a girl sits, trying for the
most charming selfie. 

They put on ears, tails—
It’s nothing new, this human 
worship of felines.

The cat kneads the soft
blanket, remembers happy
times with his mama.


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