Haibun

a good year

I'm going to live forever. So far so good.

masked ball -
we dance till the edge
of midnight

Arrangements

We're not an easy fit, you and I, he said, as he took deep draws on his pipe. I don't know where this is going, this relationship, if you can call it that. I am fond of you, and you of me, but we're past the time when emotions are the driving force. Now we can have the luxury of thinking clearly. We don't see eye to eye politically, spiritually, or even in the kinds of foods we eat. I am not about to change old habits or diet or friends or reading material. So unless you're willing to accommodate to my life, I don't see any hope of this going anywhere. I'm too old to train a new spouse.

bitter melon
my second sip
of cold

Trail Talk

Our intent was to come to an agreement as quickly as possible, but instead all we did was argue. It was a good thing we were on a hike, far away from office personnel who could overhear us. No, I didn't want to give up my position as President. No, he didn't want to be just a figurehead on the Board of Directors. We went round and round discussing the issues from every angle. Sometimes we'd get agitated and raise our voices, but only the crows heard us.

merger -
flies land on
a fresh manure pile

A Visit to the Mall

The air is crisp this spring at the mall. The stores are not open yet. The French bakery is the only place doing business this early. With cafe au lait and baguette I sit outdoors in the early morning sun.

I'm waiting to see a friend of many years. This is her favorite mall and she visits it almost daily. She's schizophrenic. Her illness makes her refuse all medical help and intervention is against the law in California, so she remains untreated. I wait several hours. Just when I am about to give up, she suddenly appears. I notice dark circles under her eyes and her blouse and pants are dirty, but neat. The people around us stare. She recognizes me. She stops a few yards from my table. "Hello, are you visiting?" she asks. "Yes, I came to see you. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?" "Sure," she smiles. "I'll be right back." She walks on and is swallowed up by the crowd of shoppers.

looking over my shoulder -

my seat already taken

by another woman

Morning Music

David with the red hair plays his guitar and sings at the subway station every week. On Mondays he plays with a saxophone player, on Tuesdays with someone with steel drums, on Wednesdays he doubles up with another singer, on Thursdays he plays solo, and on Fridays it's with whomever shows up. It may someone high on drugs or alcohol, or someone with no musical ability, but David is kind to them anyway.

On some days I drop a few dollars into his open guitar case. He brightens up. He stops playing to chat. "I'm going to go home soon," he tells me. "My mother is worried about me." Bur he's in the same spot the next day in the same clothes.

Last Monday David wasn't in his customary place. Maybe he had finally gone home. Or maybe something had happened to him. I began to worry. Then I remembered it was President's Day. I guess the homeless take days off, too.

icy cold dawn
fog creeps down
the escalator

Poets at the Pub

"I am desperately drunk," said a woman under a dim light in a Ben Lomond pub. "But not so drunk as to not overhear your wild imagination of a world lost long ago to the human race, before the sun shone and grass grew green," she said. She looked much like me, only older, grayer, in clothes reminiscent of a Shakespeare play, holding a half empty pint of beer in one hand and a pen and notebook in the other. "I know you," she continued, "not as one who knows a friend or a relation, but as a fellow poet who has written the perfect poem only to have it wrecked by bad editors and critics." I approached her booth. She motioned for me to sit down and that night, after much talk, we realized that one of us would have to die.

walking home
one by one the stars
go out

Reality Check

When I first took the personality test, I tested one way then, after reflecting some more, I decided that some of those categories tested that way as a result of my fourteen years of having to fake it.

local cafe
full of college students
I used to know

Lately

my life seems to be at a standstill. I'm like a sports car trapped in traffic on a freeway on-ramp. All revved up but nowhere to move. With the engine roaring, I'm ready to leap into action. I want to seize the road and commandeer my way around the other vehicles in front of me. But I'm stalled. Changes to my character come slowly. I'm an incurable complainer. Other people's failures appall me. But what of my own? What will it take to get past the gridlock of my own deficiencies and break free?

winter in Narnia
in this world of one color
a faun weeps