sunday
line of parking meters
all expired
[haiga: click URL to see image]
Author: Jeffrey Winke
Jeffrey Winke lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin in a suburban condo mere blocks from Lake Michigan. He writes haiku, haibun, and articles about heavy equipment moving dirt.
everything
for nothing:
job offer
early light
my dream drifts out
the open window
bow, if you will
marigold’s blossoms
dried brown
a thousand dreams
yet, this one —
ashes in the breeze
mannequin faces
a cosmetic counter woman
offers a spritz
gas drilling rig
rasp of frogs
near the porta-potty
amish friendship bread
hint of cinnamon
in her kiss
dry shadow
under the parked white car —
spring downpour
five up, two over
somebody stares out
that window
first rain
the bright colors
of her summer top
eyelash moon
the cobalt sky holds
her silence
trying not to look
again, she adjusts
her blouse v
first rain
the bright colors
of her summer top
early sun —
the red-wing glides
into shade
off season
the fair grounds
filled with wind
morning paper
scrolling down the page
to click on More
late sun
a dandelion wisp floats
into shade
frenetic day
outside my office window
clouds slowly drift
pitch black
moving toward her lips. . .
I kiss her nose
furnace man –
his soft grumble
as he tunes the boiler
cold autumn rain
the red EAT sign’s
soft neon hum
misty eve
a neighbor’s dog
gives a long howl
late summer
descending into her jeans
a celtic tattoo
my grandfather’s portrait
recognizing that look
in my daughter
noon rush
trying not to notice
the waitress’ mole
the long walk
her hand finds
mine
50’s photo
her atomic breasts point
to the future
pale puddles
sound of an air wrench
from the open garage
gray rain
in the park custodian’s truck
trays of pink geraniums
lakeside diner
a tipped over picnic table
encased in ice
dusting of snow
a sparrow’s footprints
every which way
faint autumn moon
a sheet of newspaper
crumpled by the wind
late sunrise
a walnut rolls . . .
down a roof
dark mist
a raccoon silently slips into
the dumpster