Lack Of Trust: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku Lament

It’s fine that you don’t/
trust me any more. I don’t/
trust me much, either.

Temple Liar: Revolutionary ImproVerse Haiku Lament

She promised me that/
we would attend the Temple/
again. Did she lie?

Goodbye Made Easier: Romantic ConTEXTing Rhyming Haiku

If I’m a liar/
and a cheater does that make /
goodbye easier?

Dying Because of a Red Car: a Revolutionary Poem

Yesterday I bought a car.
it was red. Fast. Old.
I traded two cars for it.
They didn’t run worth Sh*t.

Nearly a decade and a half old
was this new red car.
Black leather interior.
heated seats. Superior.

Really loud speakers.
Cranked Weezer.
Why do they gotta front?
What makes them so violent?

I always thought I looked
just like Buddy Holly.
So I played it loud,
sunroof open: music spilled out.

Seattle springtime surrounds us:
Bright. Warm. Glorious.

And then it started.
A promise I didn’t remember,
brought first by my son,
then by his sister,
then by their mother.
Texts on my cell.
Dozens of messages from hell.

Liar.
Always lying.
Always changing your mind.
Stupid. Crazy. Liar. Unkind.

Did they ever think
I honestly don’t remember
promises made?
“Yeah, you can drive it!”
Things said off
the cuff?

Or,
Did they ever think
The world is changing as we speak?
That it’s important for me
to have a cheaper vehicle?
Better gas mileage?
I drive more.
Last time, to avoid any fuss,
I almost took the bus.

Got screamed at anyway.
Always in texts: “Go away.
I have no father.
I’m not your daughter.”

After a while, I decided
not to take the abuse.
The name calling.
“Liar.
You’re not my dad.
I hate you with everything I have.”

You are an F**n idiot.
I have no father.
From she who once fell
off the bed laughing so hard
at me.
(Hard to write
when tears make it hard to see).

Then, from him, the son:
The same venom.
Only harsher, unexpected.
But I stood firm.

For a minute.
Then I thought
What the heck? It’s just
a red, fast car! With no rust!

But realized, too late, maybe,
that I had no money.
6 months out of work does that.
Who covers the insurance premiums
when dad doesn’t work
for the kids’ car? (The jerk!)

I asked that they step up.
Get off their rears for a change.
Work.
As I did.
As their brother and sister,
did. Older, wiser.

You can drive the car.
The condition is
you pay.
Logical?
Normal? I’da thought.
But evidently not.

Not in our rich neighborhood
where “all my friends”
get “whatever they want”
and don’t have to pay.
I want to do a survey.

But I won’t.

I was hoping
they would step up,
see their mother trudging off
to work at 5 a.m.;
see me working late hours
trying to find something
anything
to keep her in school,
to keep him fed,
a roof over their heads.

See that and say
“maybe I should get a job today
and help pay
insurance
just once”.

Nah.
“I hope you die!”.
Because I didn’t let them
drive the car?
“But get a job in Dublin,
like you wanted.
Then die.
We won’t have to pay
for the funeral that way!”

Crazy, selfish liar
in a Dublin funeral pyre.

In the end,
both said “don’t talk to us,
don’t text us,
don’t contact us again.”

“Get a job out of state.
Don’t show your face again!
Move far away!
(Oh, but Daddy… still pay).”

Yesterday I bought a car.
Today I lost two children.
Or they lost me.
And it brakes my heart.
Perhaps if I go really fast
The pain won’t last.

Maybe I WILL die.
Aye.

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