Two hundred bodies fill the hierarchy and semantics of wildlife. Wobbling and jostling, craning our necks. The sickly tone of patriotism washes over the sallow birches. Woosh, whistle, etc. Flapping in the woods I fight a checkerboard. The same shirt from somebody else’s 1979. We take etchings, w/ charcoal and paper, from random trees and feel good about it. And feel good about the day.
 
cold night 
a mouthful of rice
wobbles on the fork
Far from biography I note the tiredness of doom. Rusted, rickety – creek, croom. The house like a Hopper – that is, free, out of time, weird, honest and brave. That morning a spineless light descends from heaven. Heaven is offended at a perceived offense. Not knowing what to do they pack up all the fences and move out further west.
 
returning geese
I give my father

the bigger slice

Michael O’Brien is based in Glasgow Scotland. His work has appeared in Shamrock Haiku, Up Literature, Failed Haiku, Modern Haiku, Occulum, et.al. You can follow him on twitter @michaelobrien22