[October 7]
Orange specks bob
on early autumn currents—
monarch butterflies.

[October 8]
Radio voice wonders,
“Can anyone wait that long?”
I’ve decided, no.

[October 9, courtesy of Roger Tory Peterson]
The Red Junglefowl
is the ancestor to all
domestic chickens.

[October 10]
Warm October night
prompts man to open hydrant—
Brooklyn love affair.

[October 11]
DOOM TUBA BATHTUB
declares the bridge graffiti
I’m going under.

[October 12]
Cooler air moves in—
still the bacalaito
tastes of summer sun.

[October 13]
Cats yowling outside
are portending what’s to come—
gentrification.

[October 14]
If you step over
fresh vomit without cringing
you’ve lived here too long.

[October 15]
Not quite Juliet
standing on the fire escape
I watch the night fall.

[October 16]
Trust me. There’s nothing
pathetic about laundry
on Saturday night.

[October 17]
Folks on the corner
get Jehovah’s story straight
before setting out.

[October 18, Morning run haiku]
First run up, then down,
turn around, back up, now down—
this day’s labor, done.

[October 19]
A blow-up girl doll
in the opposite window
staring back this way.

[October 20]
Today the only
sailboats are painted on the
sides of moving trucks.

[October 21]
Two figures, a sofa,
television flickering;
another night falls.

[October 22, Bike Crash Haiku]
Attempt to displace
an immoveable object
yields only bruises.

[October 23]
Every day at five
the man opens the trap door—
pigeon explosion!

[October 24]
Today
deserves only
ten syllables.

[October 25, Flashing Red Lights Haiku]
Planes’ wings overhead
tops of bridge towers across
don’t walk signs below.

[October 26]
Calendar left near
an open window will make
the months breeze on by.

[October 27]
What did Ravel know
of Tom and Jerry cartoons?
Everything, it seems.

[October 28]
Whenever I think
I miss you, you remind me
that I’m mistaken.

[October 29]
Long-haired sleeping girl’s
plush backpack sports an insect
beating a snare drum.