Seasons – Page 24 – Iron Haiku

a weathered park bench
waiting on the bus a child
takes the time to sit
–
early afternoon-
pigeons gather by
an empty bench

sputtering neon-
piles of rags weakly lit by
the staccato glow
–
november night-
threadbare blankets
in the doorway

softly falling rain-
I finally let you go
for your sake and mine
–
glass in his hair-
a husband waits
in anguished silence

well past closing time-
we rehash old war stories
over onion rings
–
a dirty booth-
my chipped coffee cup
bottomless

hourglass summer-
memories of time we spent
slip through my fingers
–
driftwood-
a gull’s shadow
passes by

black ink on paper-
oblivious passengers
riding the subway
–
a soft gong-
the model changes
position again

an incoming storm-
thunderclouds vent their anger
on an iron sea
–
hard driving rain-
waves break against
barnacled pilings

awaiting the fall-
swayed by the prevailing winds
rotten at the core
–
scrub grass-
remnants of glass
in peeling sashes

laughter in the air-
mittens and scarves skating past
closed curio shops
–
bistro tables-
bohemian couples
on the grass

stripped down to the waist
sledgehammer and splitting maul
ringing in the sun
–
hazy starlight-
woodsmoke drifts
through the trees