Haiku Attempts 8 - college life

Global Haiku • Millikin University • Fall 2013

the country boy's face
as he learns
the gays aren't so bad

the little girl smokes
to be cool
a candy cigarette

Mexican standoff
my cat strikes
the bedroom mirror

the dirt on my cleats
runs to my face
mom's not happy

in college
french fries:
a vegetable

roses from my
grandmother's funeral—
now officially dead

freshman year
we start hanging out
the last month of school

morning commute
wearing on
my car and I

deleting him
from my Facebook
I'm done.

quick kisses
before I leave for work—
doggie breath

the young puppy
swimming laps
in my bed sheets

in front of the dairy section
innocent eyes question
where babies come from

a lonely mutt
that lost his home
to the English bulldog

future best friend
we bond by painting
the graveyard fence

do I really
have to say hi?

no walls
for the mind

look who gained
her freshman twenty

playing the piano
my dog
no longer comes

dance floor
they kiss
not knowing each other's names

the good girl
on the couch cradling
her wine bottle

head on his chest
heart beat lullaby
Summer drunk

we ignore
his shadow touching
our shadow

rushing to print
pages of research
a jam

four papers later
sleeping atop
her laundry

first kiss
his mouth
tastes like whiskey . . .

replacing you
out of the question
back then

tender thoughts
float away
chimney smoke

campus visit day
no parking
commuter problem

foggy autumn
the frost covers
my slippers

leaves sway
everyone else

snuggled under the blanket
the very last night
in a bare room

astonished by the hand-drawn
art in a used textbook—

your reflection
I see you
seeing your beauty

the last flower
I can give
—to the coffin

visting the grave
memories slip away
once again

mothers hug their children
at the casket's sight
harsh winter winds

mother touches my cheek—
something new

I hold
a single bone

memorial day
this year
less to remember

© 2013, Randy Brooks • Millikin University
All rights returned to authors upon publication.