The End...?

I have a few things to say:

1. I love when campy horror movies like Manos: The Hands of Fate close with "The End...?" It implies that in the future, yet another innocent family may be hoodwinked into Manos' creepy split-level house, only to find themselves enslaved by a Freddie Mercury look-alike in a caftan and his harem. I'm ending this blog the same way, because who knows? Maybe I'm not quite ready to call it quits. Maybe I'll have some more haiku to post one of these days. Thinking in 5-7-5 is a tough habit to break.

2. I know this blog never attained astonishing popularity. Let's face it -- if you've made it this far, there's a good chance you're related to me. Thanks for staying with me through my haiku journey. Thanks for reading, commenting, and encouraging. If you have enjoyed my writing, please send some friends my way. If you are stumbling upon this blog for the first time today by googling "subway body language" or "Chuckie sighting" (I am intensely proud that my blog features prominently in both search results) then by all means, go back to the beginning and experience the full adventure.

3. Do you have a favorite haiku? I would love to hear about why you like it and/or what it means to you. You can either comment on this post, or the original haiku posting, or email me at lifein575@gmail.com.

I leave you with two closing bonus haiku:

Were it not for my
Dear family and friends, my
Words would have no wings

and


With great affection
For you my faithful readers
We shall close this book

Very fondly,
FiveSevenFive

Day 365: Things Get Real

Two house coat-clad crones
Scream and shout and throw wet clothes
In our laundry room

They were screaming in Russian, but I think it was about dryer rights.

Day 364: Downpour

Midtown thunderstorm
Lightning forks reflected in
Skyscraper windows

Day 363: A startling confession from a stranger

The guy smiles and says
"I'm just as behind as you
On my New Yorkers"

I was perusing the issue from the first week of April on the subway platform. I didn't have the heart to admit that I am actually backlogged to late January. Truthfully, the New Yorker is too smart for me. The articles are usually about 10 pages long. I lose interest in Callista Gingrich after 2 pages, TOPS. I mostly just read the cartoons.

Also, that might have been the New York-iest pickup line ever.

Day 362: Semantics

It's called a sidewalk
Not a side-dawdle-and-gawk
Or side-text-bumble

Day 361: I can barely keep my hands off of you

Gawping tourist teens
Smell like their prized souvenir
Is Axe Body Spray

It amazes me what people get excited about when they come to New York. These German kids had cleaned out the nearest Duane Reade. Sure, they had the requisite pile of bags from Macy's, but they were most excited about poking each other with nail polish pens.

I think the Axe commercials are so revolting that I am not going to post them here. That should give you a heads up if you go a-Googling.

Day 360: Reading

An old man devours
A Spanish dictionary
As if it's thrilling

Or maybe he just had Fifty Shades of Grey (a.k.a. that book everyone is pretending they are not reading on their Kindles) tucked between the covers.

Day 359: Somewhere in Brooklyn, 6:30 PM

I try not to see
The strange name on your buzzer
The new white curtains

Day 358: Kitchen crisis

Tasty snack prepared
Roach darts across counter top
Appetite destroyed

Day 357: Nightscape

Golden winter moon
Shines on old sloping rooftops
Like a polished coin

Yes, this is how I feel today. Thanks for asking.

A relevant flashback.

Day 356: I'm exaggerating

They will pry the keys
To our rent-stabilized digs
From my cold, dead hands

Our apartment is a glorified closet by non-New York standards, but it's a glorified closet with a separate kitchen, hardwood floors, and a negligible annual rent increase. Okay, so rent-stabilized apartments are pretty common. Don't rain on my parade.

Day 355: Mysteries

Those pants on your head
Tell us something about you
But I'm not sure what

Day 354: On the Brink

Crack that blasted gum
One more time in my left ear
And I will end you

I am not a violent person, but we all have our limits.

Day 353: Jamaica, Queens; 3:30 PM

High schoolers unleashed
Pushing, shrieking, holding hands
An orgy of youth

Day 352: Impromptu vase

A bright green rain boot
Full of pale pink peonies
Wrapped in cellophane

Day 351: Sugar rush

A tall twitchy man
Paces, holding a large cake
Grumbling to himself

Periodically he would get very angry and pantomime throwing the cake onto the tracks. For reasons I can't quite explain this made me incredibly nervous.

Day 350: Methinks the lady doth protest too much

Their braces glinting
Precocious pre-teens gossip
About who has crabs

Kids grow up so fast.

These boys and girls were in vociferous agreement that a female classmate (not present) has crabs. Their reason? The poor girl got really upset when this group told the entire middle school that she has crabs. A sure sign of guilt.

Day 349: Friggin' Hipsters

We get it. You're hip
Even without the giant
PBR tote bag

Just in case we didn't get the message from her skinny jeans and ironic shop teacher glasses, her ironically huge Pabst Blue Ribbon bag lets us know that she is a card carrying hipster. This ironic bag is perfect for ironically carrying the ironically bad beer that she will ironically consume while ironically checking the balance on her ironic trust fund.

T Minus 17

If anyone out there is keeping score at home, you may have noticed that we have a mere 17 haiku left to go before we hit 365 (far behind schedule, but hey -- life happens). The big question is, what should I do next? Keep haiku-ing? Do I stop at the magic number? Start a new writing project? Try to get a haiku book deal?

I'm joking about the last one. Mostly.

Ideas?

Day 348: Umbrellonet? Bayonella?

A pouchy-faced toad
Knocks me clear out of the way
With her umbrella

The subway is a dog eat dog world, with a seat as the ultimate prize. This woman was a worthy adversary. Her savvy use of the "appear out of nowhere reverse umbrella bump with dirty look and purse block" maneuver was impressive.

She won the battle, but not the war. Game ON.

Day 347: Shawarma or gyro?

I step off the train
Smelling like the street meat that
Fat guy was eating

Day 346: Rude awakening

I drift off to sleep
And wake up in Jamaica
Queens, not paradise

I go there a lot, and it never ceases to disappoint.

Day 345: Over LaGuardia, 8:00 PM

For a few moments
New York looks like all the stars
Fell to earth at once