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Kitchen Haiku

Ivy Grimes

Crumpled paper bags
on counter, onions inside:
stroke their cold, white skins.

Mechanical bird
my sink, vomiting beak my
spigot, useful tail.

Running burn under
cold water, painful doctor,
I visit myself.

Neighbors buy French white
tea, organic beans, such clean
scrubbed emerald mugs.

Peeling cucumbers,
think of progress, of process,
syllables and song.

Mop in bucket, I
meant to put up; the creek floods
away those small frogs.

TV on softly
violin murder music,
polish the counter.

Spread butter onto
the soft damp jonquil petals.
Morning looks like that.