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Joe Ahearn

Haiku



At First At first the house seems quiet, then I notice I'm the one who's humming.
Didn't notice the sky--except to think later, what color was that?
Lisa walks in while I'm writing this poem, then the dogs walk in, yawning.
Human Being Muddy feet, muddy legs, muddy belly--and jays bitching branch to branch.
Cup's empty. Tea's gone. Someone drank it, but I don't remember a thing
Ego The puppy jumps up to bark, then runs back to see if I've noticed him.
Bright Afternoon There's so much light that even gnats make me wonder about my scruples.
Groans standing up and groans laying down. Middle-aged: friends are all doctors.
Word to word finding a way. And with each step the path mattering less.
What happens behind my eyelids comes and goes but not coming, not going.
Sometimes we notice the birds and sometimes we don't. It's a big dumb world.
There to my left, as I downshifted, a stand of oaks and three bluejays.
That oak gnaws upward day by day: passing by, we say it's beautiful.

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