Four Stanza Haiku

Dear mister
I am not your girl, your sister,
so leave off;

go and buy
another special someone
the price of bed.

Throw me twenty
just don't expect to see
any panty.

I'm not tall
or skinny, I'm none too blonde,
but I'm here--
serving beer.

The Hunt

Yes ma’am I’m hard

cut from stone, hard

worker and smart too.

You want me

to lick table clean?

Sure sure, can do.

Yes I go to college

and leave

with Honors, ivy leaf.

wrote many papers,

kissed limestone

statues of tall tall men.

Not as pretty as you!

but I will work for you,

sure, sure, for not much.

I know how to clean

the deep fry

and write you poems

for appetizer, try one.

Hello? Hi it’s me

again, I called last week

remember me

yes, I know you,

the sushi house.

Oh I eat sushi so much,

can roll a mean one,

and drink 10 sake box.

Monday, eight-fifteen?

At Whom It Should Concern

in Human Resources:

I would make great

typist and phone-talker.

I phone talk all the time!

Wait, don’t go!

not ladyfriend talk,

but a phone professional

I am. Ps and Qs are best

quality that I keep

in my pockets, 

for you the boss to use

his or her own

tidy hankerchief. Here it is!

That is how loyal I would be

for you

at your great big company

that does that one marketing thing

I’m so curious about.

Tell me, please, more about you,

what it is exactly that you do.

Hi, I call you back?

I spilled rice and beans

in my lap.

Ooh, lookee here,

I found your number on the job board

at 7^th and West.

Walk the dog

clean the toilet

soft wipe of ass?

yes, please, ma’am,

this I want more of.

I will be the best worker

you find, hands down. 

Sure, let me know

I would love to hear from you

and here is my number, it's:

Loose Villanelle.

Watching you watch me, I make tea.

I fade out of sight, your anchor

behind the door. You couldn’t see,

but heard the screams of water

molecules turned angry vapor

screaming at me making tea.

Sometimes we drag on the floor.

Other days go on with toil and labor

behind a door we cannot see.

Here pages turn. Clocks stop. Hearts slow.

And sometimes we are boring:

sitting in chairs, screaming, and making tea.

Grueling on we grind away

at each page, the same one read yesterday,

the day before, and the one we didn’t see.

Please don’t go when you expire,

your life the flowers I closed

between a book to dry, off-white and fair.

I want to watch you watching me

from behind the door.

I want to have you to see.

Birthday tree.

You are my

this is my

boat,

my pretty plastic

blue boat that

I got

for my day

of birth.

Here it is.

They thought

I was a

boy, but I

was not. I

did not need

circumcision.

My grandma, she

had a dream

of me, one night.

I was a girl.

I am a woman.

She gave me

a tree, a birthday

tree, red japanese fingers,

spindly leaves that land,

still bluster down

to the dry grass

behind my parent's house.

The root ball

is too large to move now.

Only twenty-two,

it lives in its grave.

His problem

It wraps around all

wrapped around his

throat

hard too

grips it

with a force,

caresses the groin

all muscle

tail and sinew

body not

to mention

big

black eyes.

Flicking,

writhing.

Therein lies

his

prob

lem.

I am from the two children

kissing in the basement

underneath hallelujahs

and choirs,

and warbling sopranos

with pink nails.

I am from you, from the deep red

of you, from the caves of your heart

that wanted me,

that kept me.

From the asbestos to the linoleum,

I am from the basement and the bed,

from your jeans that widened,

from your hair that whitened,

from your arms still strong,

smelling cold cream.

I am from the maple tree

that was doomed to fall

but never did. The tree lost

a limb, soft wood inside,

drops damp leaves, is

a raccoon bed at night.

Its voice is the ocean

in autumn windstorms.

I am from mourning,

from celebration,

from bowls of cereal spilled

on the floor and crunched underfoot.

I ate, I destroyed,

and you cleaned the floor

with a wet cloth.

I were to give grace;

if I were to do that

that thing

that thingy-thing that

may seem a bit silly

to closed and chilly me,

that would help you,

I think.

You, curled into a C.