Haiku #550 – #554

550.

July downpour, and
My neighbours are jet washing
The empty bins.

551.

Inexplicable
Feelings towards these people.
I am a stranger.

552.

I saved a spider
Today; may it be enough
To karmically

553.

Repair me, before
It’s too late, if I spared a
Thousand dark spiders;

554.

Because I worry
These days that I am beyond
Saving, regardless.

 

Blue Box

Taxes paid for astronauts
To fly a flag on the moon;
Teraelectrons tunnelled loops,
Trinity made a Mexican soup,
But I cannae recycle plastic bags.

Into my head I had hard-wired
Dead musicians tarnished;
HIV’s retreating,
And the wars these days are fleeting,
But I cannae recycle varnish.

The Minister for Handwash
Is now self-incubating;
Satellites trajectory
Connect me to Detroit,
But I cannae recycle kitchen foil.

Transport ticks on biofuels,
Why only now is this unlocked?
MRI minds diseases,
Embryo preservationists,
But I cannae recycle a pizza box.

When the wheels regenerate
My fishy gills trap plastic;
It’s no suprise I have issues.
Perhaps I’ll feel a form of fantastic
When we are recycling tissues.