I can't help it. I keep writing haiku based on small-town newspaper crime reports: police-blotter haiku. There's something so zen-like about those little stories that they deserve to be put in verse form. Not much crime there, but lots of human nature: suspicion, misperception, anger, resentment and yes, plain old humanity.
I may or may not be onto something, but at least least I'm enjoying myself. This latest batch was inspired by the police blotter from a paper I'll call the Lake Harborwoodville Tribune/Informer, which serves a well-heeled semi-rural Oregon town not far from Portland. In its way, another Prettyville - but with an overlay of Oregon goofiness. Thanks, and enjoy.
Why did someone smear
Cheeze Whiz and peanut butter
on that poor Volvo?
A house fire, or a
backyard barbecue and the
Tri-Tip of the Gods?
Did the runaway
run off to Las Vegas, or
to his therapist?
A large potted plant.
appeared in his mailbox, and
he reported it.
Mormons at the door.
Pretend that no one's at home.
Or call 911.
The first-floor tenant
Can't accept second-floor noise.
Why live in anger?
It's a rite of Spring:
Young men reverse a street sign
and run off laughing.
Suspicion can make
a gift of blackberry pie
look like a drug deal.
His ex came back to
get her stuff and yes, he
had to let her in
Constantly he walks
in circles in his own yard.
It bothers people.
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3 comments:
I enjoyed all of them. Keep 'em coming.
They are great.
Thanks, guys. These things just fascinate me.
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