You are currently browsing the category archive for the 'embarassment' category.
She can’t stand her. He’s
her ex, so don’t include them.
Can’t we go alone?
The play was about
them. His unrequited love
her indifference.
He sent sensitive
documents to a stranger
thinking it was me.
Our longer springtime
walks knock him out. There he lies
fat happy fur child.
All around it, the
town is dead. Pity the poor
taken investors.
No one waters them.
Tiny cells plead, but TV
seems more important.
An adult blankie.
To take one from its owner
will make grown men cry.
Smoothing over the
wrinkles in life takes more cold
cash than hot metal.
Shopped a membership
warehouse store today. Got six
years’ worth of ketchup.
Hunched and hobbling I
move as if years older, a
taste of what’s to come.
Haiku, like bonsai,
needs care and pruning. A mind
unfocused kills both.
Incrementally
I clean unearthing a clear
space on the table.
Wan, pale, red-eyed, she’s
the poster wife of Wynette’s
song, “Stand By Your Man.”
When a righteous man
is caught with his pants down, it’s
likely he’ll get spanked.
posted to my Twitter account
I need sleep, but I * need to work but I need sleep * to work can’t think straight.
posted to my Twitter account
Project due and I * like the late adopter I * am, haven’t finished.
Geeks transformed into
leading men stop hearts, but then
revert back next day.
Left in Manhattan
cab. Friends’ numbers, pix of my
kids in strangers’ hands.
It’s said women swoon
at his rallies, yet his wife
once called him stinky.
Like a hick I tilt my
head to see the top and
ponder tossed pennies.
I am the dull one, struck
mute by accomplishment
what I do, nothing.
Just over five months
This one four hundred fifty
Art or wasted time?
A haiku a day?
Not quite. Some days the tap runs,
some days it’s bone dry.
Headgear gone wild I
tip my hat to idiots
who have flipped their lids.
With all this trash talk
even the winner comes out
smelling like garbage.
Anyone who makes
Ryan Seacrest sweat deserves
a special Oscar.
see also Inconstant blogger
That you’ve found me and
read my life in seventeen
syllables floors me.
see also Constant reader
Like a lover who
wanders I return here to
check in now and them
Bjork’s swan an urban
red carpet legend. Today
beauty takes no risks.
TV morphs into
loser land infomercials
for acne weight loss
We watch bad TV
eat microwave popcorn feel
guilty not really.
Midnight ghosthunting
at a tragic landmark seems
like a cool idea
Longing to hug them,
I wait ’til they flutter near
like moths to my flame.
Want like a burr that
catches your attention for
something you don’t need.
Dressing room mirror
replaced by funhouse looking
glass. Not me in there.
Disappointment like
a kidney punch makes it hard
to smile through the pain.
Like trying to use
your tongue as a lint brush, you
wake up fuzzy-mouthed.
Not enough time for
cookies, cards, decorating.
Which one do I skip?
My spare bedroom holds
many possibilities
under all that junk.
No greater self-love
than a dog licking itself
with satisfaction.
It’s the guilty splurge,
potato chips for the mind.
You can’t watch just one.
On weigh-in day I’d
inhale helium if it
would make me lighter.
Inertia roosting
inside me like a hen un-
willing to lay eggs.