Spring Haiku, Copyright Doug Stuber, 2014

Cherry blossoms lure
creaking knees. Tired eyes see
mountain’s April pink.

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After the shapely
twenties, way
after, when cool weather coats
in floral patterns
are the same, every

terminal
from New York to Bonn
finds grandmothers in
full chat, canes leading,
extending

ambulatory
days the purse
swinging beauties don’t even
think about. Why, when
all male eyes

move with them
and horizontal
stripes do no harm to
perfumed eloquence
disguised as

novice nymph?
A full bag of expensive
ginseng hangs,
dangles in the wind.
Skirt shakes in tempo

over heels.
The gift must be for an aunt
but she’s dressed
for some party she
won’t want her to guess.

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