Simply Haiku: A Quarterly Journal of Japanese Short Form Poetry
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Summer 2009, vol 7 no 2


Dave Bacharach

half rain half ice
is another form
of treachery—
suddenly on my back
I gaze at crystal trees


no matter
if the sun one day
burns out—
my white hot anger
will last beyond the grave


fistfight over
we become good friends—
the intimacy
of breaking his nose
he scarring my face


this lonely path
leads through the woods
to the homeless
one day I'll stroll in
with brandy and cigars


a dragonfly perches
upon a green leaf
fluttering in the wind
on her dyed silk scarf


what she says
is important enough
to listen
but all I think of
is her red lipstick


her lies
are like wet clothes
I peel off
piece by piece
to be left shivering


her breasts bounce
as she crosses against
a red light
a girl so young
I drag my eyes away


Dave Bacharach Dave Bacharach grew up in the streets and alleys of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He worked his way through college doing manual labor and driving a taxi. After attending graduate school, he taught briefly at Philadelphia Community College before relocating to the rural hillsides surrounding Ithaca, New York. He now manages a large bus garage by day, and writes poetry and practices the saxophone by night. His poetry and reviews have appeared in many of the major journals, and he is the editor of Ribbons, published by the Tanka Society of America.