Haiku 31

Dying alone? Well, what is it but dying, plain, plus a codicil?

She told me to leave and I’m the only witness to one good deed done.

Those bedbugs again, spread through our laundry room grime whom shall they favor?

Summer sensation dry lower lip pulls back from sticky incisors.

The old man’s left hand, top of the driver’s headrest slight shake as brakes squeak.

She ties on a branch one purple paper flower the sun to illume.

Running for the bus little ones leading the way for one panting Mom.

Stranded–no buses, dead phone, disaster only as far as my mind.

Take a short moment and two or three more add up to a longer crime.

After weeks of heat the drizzle politely asks permission to stay.

I’ve watched light, through blinds, flicker in a summer wind… ready to leave now.

Sister Fatima says goodbye one last time Wa-Alaikum-Salaam.

The fly, don’t know why, pokes its way through bent grass leaves… A search for purpose?

One worn black teddy bear head slumped back, arms out; a nap by the florist’s door.

His voice punches air, butt parked on a blue towel, singing Bill Withers.

In my “Bud Light” shirt I’m in no shape to question the two bus boozers.

Hydraulic bus lift beeps its staggered triplets to coffee shack hiphop.

His close-lipped laughter my eyes closed, transmogrifies– an owl’s twilight coo.

Ball rolls to a stop beside heat-drooped yellowhorn… nothing else happens