Hamlin's "Haiku 17" is a string of short, loosely linked scenes that read like a day, or many days, caught in a notebook. A kettle boils, socks wear thin, a boy hugs his mother, a woman talks to God on the street. Between these ordinary glimpses sit heavier ones: a death, a speaker lying back with Brubeck "waiting to die," and a sting that alcohol and prayer haven't fixed. The poem never explains how these connect, and the gaps are part of its feeling.
The speaker seems tired, lonely and grieving, yet still watching. Trains, buses and parades give the poem a sense of movement, while the speaker stays alert to strangers: a boy "happy to lose" against a train, a man with orchids, two crows balancing on branches. Jazz, especially Coltrane, appears as a touchstone near the heart. The mood is quiet and wistful, with small gentle humor and stubborn endurance. "Like anything else I eventually stop / but not on this day" sums it up well.