Riding with the Haiku Poet
On a muddy road, a haiku poet
driving a car that looks like an old stone pond,
offered a ride.
Haiku today, he bemoaned,
is written by those who have never seen a frog jump,
or heard the cricket’s dusky lament.
I, then, recalled, one last lingering fall day,
the window, left ajar, just enough for a cricket
to fly in and land in the middle of my classroom,
and the teenage boy, who amidst the curious yelps of students,
stood up and squashed it with the 5-7-5
beat of his heel.
But this poem does not pretend
to be about dead crickets, vicious boys,
or open windows on autumn days,
it’s just about a ride with a haiku poet
in a car that looks like
an old stone pond.