daily haiku by haiku andy

ten-thirty at night
and still so much left undone.
my cat licks herself.

late night dishwashing.
kitchen window over sink
reflects a stranger.

pelican
perched on polk street roof,
wings spread out to dry.

hyde street cala foods
closing, shelves almost bare like
the end of the world.

friday morning mist.
my dog and I share a fresh
blueberry muffin.

thanksgiving night.
a lone cable car ascends
california street.

back for thanksgiving:
my son and the mists clinging
to the shaggy hills.

leaving the warm house
to move the car and maybe
enjoy the stars some.

green hills right in sight.
still the hawk perches above
the crowded freeway.

at the next table,
young couple on their first date.
let the games begin.

beyond the bare trees:
manor ridge
visible again.

bento box salad.
how come the tomato wedge
gets all the dressing?

trash night.
wheeling out the bins under
cold november stars.

america waited
two weeks after halloween
to take off its mask.

this ache and longing
to lie in your fleshy warmth
and forget my name.

the twilight city
sparkles in the blue shadows
while I wait for the bus.

bright as any flame —
the autumn leaves on the tree
outside my window.

the moon rises late,
indifferent
to my longing.

sky bruised
with rain clouds. back home,
a fire waiting.

cat on ottoman,
eyes reflecting the fire,
as they slowly shut.