Pinched

the New York Times face-up
in a pile at Starbucks

—that face, again!

dead center above the fold, he’s
with a group of selfie-taking soldiers

I pinch a quarter-sized hole
in the photo, between thumb

and index, making a gap where
the country’s leadership ought to be

2017 #MeToo Haiku Revue

Harvey

    each conquest a brick
    now tied to his flabby neck
    long walk on short pier

Kevin

    as young as they were
    he felt they were old enough
    and we do mean felt

Louie

    the king of standup
    single handedly ruined
    all self pleasuring

Roy

    he read Lolita
    as a self-help dating guide
    Alabama rules

Slurry

The Artists Of Altamira, arthinks (blog)


hypnotic slurry of brilliance and
stupidity, compassion and acute heartlessness
and endless demagoguery
these ancient cave paintings

these wartime leaflets
these political campaigns
this social network
this us, this me

Kung Fu

I fondly remember the 1970s TV series in which a Chinese monk with mad martial arts skills wanders the American Southwest where he is repeatedly attacked by Trump supporters*, each of whom he soundly thrashes while being outnumbered and outgunned. He always connected with the decent people he met, always taught kindness and respect for others, and turned to violence only as a last resort.

The only thing better than watching Kung Fu is watching Kung Fu with Jennifer Aniston.

* that is, they would be Trump supporters if they lived in current times.