wires twist and creak rubber gloves snap, needles click implements of pain ********* Today’s haiku is inspired by the movie Audition.
No matter what I’m doing, I’m listening. Especially at work. I can type an email, answer a call, fill out a report, and eavesdrop on a conversation with ease. And since I have an unusual job that includes high level work, like overseeing the debt collections efforts for 15 managers, and the more entry level task of manning a reception desk at the same time, I overhear a lot. Last week an executive waiting for the elevator turned to the colleague he with and said, “I think this meeting is going to go well, but it’s a shame Dr. Goodnight couldn’t make it.” Dr. Goodnight? Who the hell is that? I have mentioned before that I can’t name the gigantic corporation I work for, but I can assure you, we are not in the healthcare industry. And what a name, fit for a Bond villain, or perhaps an assassin. Now I want to name every villian I write in a story Dr. Goodnight.
A sculpture of my favorite birds at the North Carolina Zoo, spotted during my annual visit this summer.
I spotted this grasshopper clinging to my screened-in porch. The outdoor floodlight is so intense you can almost see through him.
The thing was, you couldn’t watch all of them (not all at once.) He began to make a whining noise– unaware in his locked concentration that he was making any sound (at all.) His eyes darted, from one hedge creature to the next Trying to see them (move.) The wind gusted making a hungry rattling sound in the close matted branches. What kind of sound would there be (if they got him?) But of course he knew. A snapping, rending, breaking sound. (It would be–) no no NO NO I WILL NOT BELIEVE THIS NOT AT ALL! He clapped his hands to his over his eyes clutching at his hair, his forehead (his throbbing temple.) And he stood like that for a long time (dread building.) Until he could stand it no longer and he pulled his hands away. ****** The idea behind a found poem is to take a paragraph from a book, and break it down into lines that form a poem. I borrowed this one from Stephen King’s The Shining. It’s one …