Roberta Beary: DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS

We are at the mother of all sales, scrunched up against the hats, the no-good, the bad and the downright ugly. Try this one, she orders, and this, and this. There is no room to move, let alone try something on. With stone face, I lift my hands and obey. She is, after all, my big sister. Buy the red one, she points, yelling for all to hear, it makes your nose look less big.
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snow-mush
my neighbor's tree kicked
to the curb

by Roberta Beary
Washington, D.C.
first published in Shamrock Haiku Journal 6

Roberta Beary: sunday dinner

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i like my husband but not the older sister too bossy for me the way she likes to tell me we don't call him sweetie pie in this house who died and made her queen and the younger sister too always talking money and how poor growing up but mostly i don't like the way they knew him all those stolen years before he found me

porch-glider

the rosethorns

back and forth

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by Roberta Beary

Washington, D.C.

first published in Modern Haiku 35.1

Roberta Beary: visiting day

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high on my da's shoulders i was no more than five into the bar we went and i carrying the beer bucket the barman calling out beer...here... beer...here... the barman filling it overflowing what a head on her can you imagine 5¢ for all that beer can you imagine that and da and I laughing all the way home he carried me

overheated room

a scent of mothballs

from the open drawer

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for Patrick Beary (d. 16 Jan 05)

by Roberta Beary

Washington, D.C.

first published in Contemporary Haibun Online, V 1 N 1