Day's End

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Day's End


Almond-Eyed Muse


I enter the Japanese restaurant and am led to a table by the window. Thirty minutes later, I glance at my watch, mumble "Must have gotten the time wrong" and return to gazing absently at the paintings on the walls.

A tiny waitress approaches, looks at the empty chair next to me and asks, "Friend come soon?"

"Yes, soon," I reply.

A half-hour later, I catch her eye.

"Not coming. Ohhhh … too bad. Want order?"

Yes some sort of order has been lost and I want it back. Without the steady rhythm of work, I no longer know which day of the week it is.

A thin volume of poetry open, I stuff down noodles and words while pretending that I'm not one to be pitied, but instead admired for being able to live so rich a solitary life.

a scrap of paper
creased sixty-seven times –
origami goat


R. Rasmussen, Simply Haiku, 5:2, Summer 2007