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