a haiku sequence

I.

one broken boot
in the parking lot where
barefoot children play

old tired white boy
changes the tire on the
trailer Easy Money

not during the photo shoot
not during the joggers running by
spring rain

telephone repair man and his dog
eyeing the wet pole

a trollop photo
she frowns at the rain
Hollywood

look at him run
look at him, the homeless man
the bus passing by

someone rutting around
in the orange trash bin
finds an umbrella

I hate it when this happens
the sun comes out
rush hour traffic

would-be photographer
polaroids of the motel sign
scattered on her feet

the window up against her face
smeared, my face
smeared

old man, must be the manager
painting the green
green

up her sleeve the teen whore stashes
white sweat socks

with a needle the children
crouch down, pirates
hovering

Palms Motel
so many named Honey
numbered

II.

around the edges
gray and quiet I saw
that room

air conditioning a sweater
in a tame bird's view

over her sequins and sweat
around the edges
gray and quiet

twisted up like a strong man
you kiss me

you look for me
in the shallows, I am
over the waterfall

frayed around the edge
Oh yes touch me there

"behave because
you never know when
you're being watched"

on the edge of a haiku moment
on the edge of a haiku

hopscotch
the chalk line where
the body was

better than ezra
in a station at the metro

tea leaves caught between
her teeth and when
she fell

that prostitute no better than
the rest of us worried

passing the binoculars over
to a supervisor
for permission

finger on the world
so far from the Palms Motel

rosemary that kills me
in the soup that heals me
in my lunch