Haiku

Shave your scruffy beard.
It scratches and chafes the skin
of my inner thighs.

Under rocks and leaves,
I find men everywhere there.
Mostly, I don't touch.

Supposedly,
piss tastes like beer or maybe
it's the other way round.

I truly like beards
provided they're trim and neat
like freshly mowed grass.

It's simply not fair,
you didn't write one for me
he says with a pout.

I wear cowboy boots,
but don't like country music
or those silly hats.

I devour pizza
and pepper enflames my mouth
like your lingering tongue.

I eat fish and chips
from paper plates while dreaming
of your last soft kiss.

My favorite drink
is electric lemonade.
Pucker me, I'm juiced.

I've given up sleep
for sex, poetry and drugs.
I need some caffeine.

Sex can be slippery,
but perfumes the musky air
with something human.

Again, cell phone rings
tortured classical music.
Shut the damn thing off.

I'm sure not Batman,
but I have something better.
My man also wears tights.

Fucking you brings back
the night of the living dead.
I loathe zombie sex.

2006

Thoughts and Comments

I wrote all of these on the fly at Sam Bonds Garage at a Haiku Showdown.

I'd been sick and had no plans to compete, so I didn't prepare any haiku. There weren't enough poets signed up, so the coordinator coerced a woman in the audience into participating.

She hadn't prepared anything either, so I wrote a bunch of haiku to help her out.

She made it to the final round.