I loved the moans under his door,
little mists of blood.
I loved the lethal shadows of bones
in his fluoroscope,
the frank grins of buttocks,
and the openness of unlucky people
in his waiting room—like the man
who blew my Halloween horn
and fell into delirium tremens.
I loved his Lincoln Continental
and his check-writing machine.
The checks flew like swifts
over the town, over the clocks
and prosecutors and rumors
of abortions. He disappeared
into the courthouse on black and white TV.
I remember the lake, sometimes.
My father is watching as I dive
to the bottom to fetch cold leaves.
I come up to rain, the pier
floating away with him. I call out
but make no sound.
He looks more and more
sad as I go under.
They drained the lake. Just briars,
brambles and broom sedge now.
haiku have appeared in Frogpond, Modern Haiku, Acorn, and other journals. His work is anthologized in A New Resonance 5 (Red Moon Press, 2019), as well as in the Southern Poetry Anthology, Volume VII: North Carolina (Texas Review Press, 2015). Dave is a founding member of The Haiku Foundation, and he organizes events for the North Carolina Haiku Society.
