Yet more police blotter haiku for your reading pleasure.  At this rate — if it continued — I’d have enough in six months for another book.  And who knows? I might be crazy enough to put together another one.

In the meantime, enjoy.  And perhaps be glad that you don’t live in a neighborhood with a pit-bull-based ecosystem.

A car struck a bear
They say ‘no injuries,’ but
no one asked the bear.

She loved her new pants.
She wore them even to the
store she’d swiped them from.

What would “two nude teens”
do in the back of a car
besides “intercourse?”

When you track people
through a rifle scope, young lads,
They WILL call the cops.

They wouldn’t tell him,
and he didn’t know, why they
beat him with fence posts

Broken shop window.
A face appears in the hole
and rambles strangely.

People they don’t know
roam their street asking questions
that they cannot fathom.

She bags her garbage
and throws it on the road where
the pit bulls eat it.

This week I couldn’t write a good haiku to save my life.  Honest to God, I thought I’d run dry.  But tonight, things went went well.  I had the Gregorian chant channel running on YouTube; perhaps it centered me.

Here’s tonight’s batch: as always, seventeen-syllable haiku based on crime stories from the police blotter columns of the nation’s newspapers.  Tonight’s come from the California Gold Country, where life is — colorful.  That’s it.  Colorful.  Enjoy.

“Dog bites man,” they knew,
and “man bites dog,” but nothing
of “dog bites your car.”

They weren’t aware of
what alcohol made him do
till he’d had three drinks.

His home-made bullwhip!
The power made puberty
seem almost worthwhile.

He thought it safe to
abuse a homeless women.
Sadly, he was right.

For three days she spoke
a long, soft soliloquy
in front of his shop.

He threw a punch at
the car that almost hit him.
It missed, he missed… peace.

Piss in a storm drain…
His urge could not be constrained.
But someone complained