Monday, September 22, 2008

Richard Krawiec: UNTITLED

The slow mist of morning. House empty. Birdsong and engine rumblings drift like haze, present yet not fully defined. I sit and stare, unfocused, out the window. My mind wanders.

These Spring days, I daydream a lot about baseball; my 11-year-old son has a coach who criticizes, publicly humiliates, screams at the children. "Get your heads into the game!"

My lips move. I start to speak out loud. Then I catch myself, stop, and stare out the window again.

yelling at the coach
in my mind .... the deep trill
of a wood thrush

by Richard Krawiec
Raleigh, North Carolina

1 comment:

richard said...

What a wonderful haibun. Such a great writer. He'll probably win the Nobel.

Oh I'm sorry, I can't say that. It's me.

richard krawiec