Wet city: haiku sequence

Isolated
under our dark umbrellas,
we eye each other up.

*

I still remember
the way she flicked her cigarette
into a puddle.

*

Honey locusts stand
naked in the rain, surrounded
by shed yellow leaves.

*

The hiss of tires,
the slap of curb-surf against fire plug,
the hush.

*

Fountain in a downpour:
a homeless man in a poncho
fishes for change.

*

Wet footprints lead
to every other table
in the coffee shop.

*

A clear plastic sheet
keeps the nude cover girls dry
at the news stand.

*

Sun shining through rain:
umbrellas rise to reveal
astonished faces.

8 Replies to “Wet city: haiku sequence”

  1. Me too. I know some of the others are more traditional in turnings, but

    I still remember
    the way she flicked her cigarette
    into a puddle.

    really got me.

    I remember that, too.

    Sniff.

    *skulks off into the forest, weeping*

  2. How many haiku can you write that start, “I woke up this morning…”?
    I’m thinking a lot. (I would take out the “I,” both for the sake of the syllable count and also to make them more bluesy.) If I use this idea, I’ll be sure to credit you. Thanks, Leslee!

  3. Haiku Sequence: Pampas Grass

    pampas grass
    marsh mud glistens
    in the rowboat

    marsh wren’s cry
    the sun ripples onto the mud

    wetland chill
    a patch of ripples disappears

    marsh lightning
    the tree’s blossoms open
    into egrets

    wetland channel
    the moon spreads onto the grass

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