I could improv you/
a haiku and I would if/
you would be quiet!

OR
I should improv you/
a haiku and I would if/
you’d shut the heck up!

If I’m really not/
a pig, then what causes me/
to act like I am?

Cheap motels in oil/
country give hot, hard showers/
that scrape your skin clean.

I work/
in Detroit winter/
and OK desolation,/
alone/
and lonely./

My flesh rots/
and/
falls away/
bcuz I can’t /
afford meds./

It’s the price I/
as dad/
pay/
2 care/
4 kids.

Any chance at all/
of a late-night call? Not a/
booty one. Just fun!

A jacked-up yellow/
VDub bug. Route 66/
is sometimes still weird.

Her voice sheds my gloom/
like the red-winged blackbird’s song/
pierces misty dawns.

If you let me,
I shall write you poetry
worthy to interest and woo
even the most cynical vous.

And, if you’ll pardon,
I can help in your garden,
where, together, we’ll till the dirt
until our rough and dirty fingers hurt.

Then we’ll take the spoils
of our sweated, painful toils
and with the results of harvest,
create results that rival chefs’ best.

All the while your mind will be lifted
as your ears and soul with poetry are gifted.

If someone says ‘I /
will’, and then they don’t, that means,/
usually, they won’t.