Haiku Series on Welfare

First snow

              jumps off

              the Brooklyn bridge.

Pretty girl

              carrying loud winter cherries—

              cars rubbernecking, red stares.

Oh this old thing?

              Even in the summer I wear my fur coat

              buttons like peep holes.

Not yet a woman,

              the girl with skyscraper legs

              smiles when business is slow.

Ask if she’s ever been wed.

              It’s hard to see a rose for a rose

              and not a mousetrap, ya know?

Tonight, she lifts up the sky to give birth

              one match touches another

              but refuses to light.

Winter storm warning: footprints vanish

              like sunken ships

              & someone misses them.

All this talk

              about braille stars & touch—

              night’s implosive orchard.

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