Tad Wojnicki, US/TW

 

 

Haibun Water You Waiting For? The Salinas Valley turns into ashbowl, bearing forth thorns and thistles. Cars cross bridges over sun baked riverbeds. Under the bridges, boys and girls vroom their dirt bikes, swilling beer and making out in the dust. The deer, quail, 'coons and skunks jump in front of the zooming cars, and then lie by the side, grateful for a quick death. thirst the bottle neck too narrow Only the fields lie lush, fed by the underground rivers and rains-for-rent. Even during a drought, they bear cauliflowers that fill plates, artichokes that prick hands, and strawberries that ask lips for the sucking. city ordinance —save the water bathe with lover—     Driving Carmel Valley Road I slash sunset in halves. Slurpy sunset, all juice and sweets. Who cares? Anybody looking? Nobody is. Nobody cares. I go ahead, slashing the fruit right down the red flesh and seeds of shame. Slopes, seeds, tough stalks slip past. "The shrink himself is a certified fruit," I hear, but I don't care. I go on driving, splitting the halves—one sickeningly sweet, the other bitter as hell. Look, the day is beyond ripe, I howl. Gotta cherish the moment. Still, no one gives a damn. Do what you want, look or don't look. I'm going right ahead, soaking up Sweets. tiny pain when it hits me —dead leaf Previously published in Contemporary Haibun Online, September 2005.