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.