Out of the small-town newspapers of the West Coast -- those towns so quiet that even a stolen flower pot makes the papers -- comes another eleven police blotter haiku.
Because so many petty things that happen upon this earth can be summarized in 17 well-chosen syllables. And yet couldn't be explained in a thousand.
An elderly man
walks the streets peering into
strangers' mailboxes.
Of all the parked cars,
Only the van had its own
cable TV line.
"My attitude SUCKS?
Would you like to discuss it
with this BASEBALL BAT?"
Where a cat can go
Only firemen can follow.
With saws and ladders.
If you're so drunk that
you lost your car then you're too
drunk to drive it home.
The same man runs the
same stop sign at the same time
every morning
The Phantom of the
Abandoned Break Room haunts a
cruel employer.
There should be some curse
for planning a party with
a dead man's charge card.
She ordered a meal.
Ate, then left without paying.
And without her purse.
"Lend me your ID
and I'll marry you, I swear,"
implored the stranger.
Midnight Tween Patrol
With toilet rolls and intent.
The cops ran them off.
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10 comments:
Son, Sapper, sets up
Desalination plant and
Temporary morgue.
Man, same age as son,
Breaks shop window and steals a
Drum kit. Ba-dum kish!
The drill can't be found.
Must look in all the boxes.
Old holes remembered.
Otepoti:
The channel changes.
Off screen, tragedy persists.
While we watch "Opra."
The best and the worst.
Both show what they can do when
The world comes apart.
I'm reading NZ news sites for the continuing stories. The mourning process is under way. I've been through that. But although your tragedy is ongoing, it's "old news" to the great media beast, and on to other things. And that's a tragedy in itself. My very best to you and yours -- in your family, and in the larger circle around it.
Forrest:
You will find your drill
in the last place that you look.
Easy prophecy.
Thanks, Boomer.
Best.
Boomer - you are the master!
Thanks, Forrest, but this is something you only want to get so good at. When I do another hundred or so there'll be a book of them (which few will buy, but I'll enjoy doing it).
And then onto -- crime sonnets? Current events in iambic pentameter? Who knows? Something new to strain my brain in unexpected ways. One hopes, to the enjoyment of others as well.
Self-produced audio dramas, issued as podcasts.
I dare you to.
Otepoti, that sounds like.... work.
To me it suddenly sounds like knock-off Garrison Keillor. You'll think of something better.
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