04 April, 2016

Beef and Cheese, I-VI

mealtime again -
massachusetts institute
of beef and cheese
changing timezones -
more tired at 8 a.m.
second time around

old cigarette ends -
disused flower garden of
the cancer ward

never waste a snowdrift -
english footprints made deep in
american tyretracks

looking down on
the English, I take my place
among them

two thighs
makes plenty of room
for two boys

Notes have been added to the 2006 Yiwu from 12 Gentlemen - after ten years, this has become a very tasty cake.  Many thanks to Shah for the suggestion.

1 comment:

Hobbes said...

It's great to be back. As life changes, so must our responses to it. One constant remains in my desire to capture little snapshots of daily life, through the surprisingly effective medium of haiku. I heartily recommend trying your hand, yourself; they are so much more effective than a photograph, bringing to mind the time and place in which they were written. This set, as you might imagine, comes from a recent trip to my cousin laboratory in the US.

It is always mealtime in Massachusetts. And it is always protein. Every meal, all day, every day. I think I grew a centimetre or two, vertically, while I was there - and I probably grew radially, too.

Breakfast time is always harder the second time around. Be ready to fight your circadian rhythms by attempting to maintain consciousness until the tyrannical clock says that it is time for you to sleep! When it's breakfast time on the clock, but mid-afternoon for your body, you know that you're in trouble.

Abandoned, a little patch of ground that once gave relief and solace. The overgrown space exudes sadness, now that it has gone - and what of those who once enjoyed it?

You can always spot the tourist, because the locals are unimpressed by snowdrifts. England is cold, but it seldom snows; this particular snowdrift happened to be on the border between California and Nevada, but was enjoyable all the same.

It is a small country - it becomes obvious when seeing its fields and rivers from the air. There is, for me, no place like it on the planet, and I am always thrilled to be home. They say that "home is where your heart is", or that "home is wherever you lay your hat", but there is something about the very nature of the English countryside, and the little English people that scurry about it, that tells me that it is where I belong.

Returning home is to be a husband and father again, which is the best of all worlds. It takes just a few moments after my return for my boys to adopt their customary position, and for me to start "Daddy stories", as reading to my sons has apparently been named. The thighs get older every year, and the boys get bigger, but we're still coping...