Urban haiku

pickle bucket drums
joyous soundtrack to the scene
sour shoppers pass

nightclub awning, rain
patrons huddle in the neon
making smalltalk, smoke

fried fish, perfume whiff,
dragons guard cheap bamboo shrine
chinatown morning

flower mosaic
crafted from small sidewalk stones
popsicle stick stem

one-wheeled bicycle
securely locked to street rack
thin layer of dust

spandex clad biker
day-glo uniform complete
blue-jeaned bikers pass

as much cane as broom
frail old woman slowly sweeps
leaves off her front stoop

placcards under arms
protestors talk of shoes, beer.
(protest stopped at six.)

small concrete driveway
just large enough to contain
young skateboarder’s joy

too-earnest busker
off-key Stairway to Heaven
his tip hat empty

sunrise on the city
glint of one thousand windows
I think of the sea

playground of children
swirling like colorful leaves
caught in a vortex

post office lobby,
dozens of happy moods
fading to frustration

flaccid green balloon
tethered by a soiled string
bumps against the curb

red and white serpents
slithering slowly home
along the freeway

shiny tiled tunnel
aglow with red fluorescence,
rush hour brake lights

tri-color pansies
wilt in the constant exhaust
of the drive-thru lane

detroit, the phonic
sounds strong, sharp, industrial
sounds just like detroit

the constant clatter
of porcelain and flatware
soundtrack to breakfast

five o’clock, the purge
of office tower staffers
back into the wild

beside the dumpster
waiters compare war stories
between smoky breaths

a few flakes float down,
enough to fill the windows
with wide-eyed staffers

crowded breakfast joint
my ears visit each table
enjoying the lies

a stripe of blue sky
enjoyed between the razing
and the rebuilding

smiling barista
slides the milk on the steam arm
improv melody

under the awning
small talk punctuated by
long cigarette drags

panhandler’s face
twisted into practiced wince
tiresome one-act

serpent of red lights
traffic frozen, drivers seethe
celebrate progress

two japanese girls
explosion at the thrift store
beautiful debris

grandma ignites match
sucks the flame through the Winston
granddaughter studies

chef huddles in stoop
wincing as each raindrop hits
exhales smoke, relief

pale white teen, fifteen
sideways cap, faux-silver bling
one percent playah

fashioned metal blooms
reach toward heaven, asking,
Where are robot bees?

sunshine on downtown
the buildings are in full bloom
asphalt flowerbed

night relents to dawn
I see the city anew
concrete in bloom

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