Friday haiku 122

Weather lurching
Back and forth like a fist fight
Good morning, migraine

I’ll be seeing you

Opportunity will no longer knock.
Opportunity will no longer
Respond to our knocks.
Nobody home. Go away please.

For 15 years, without a whimper,
She spoke when spoken to
And went where she was told,
Sat up straight and minded her business.

Dusted, frozen, gimpy,
Still she plodded along
The Martian ridges,
Our spy in the sky

One final dust storm,
And she’s had enough.
Want to see what’s
Beyond the next hill?

Come on up here your damn self.

Waiting for June
Below the winter sun
A very slow fly

There was a June when it rained
As it rained every June
Anyone could remember
All day, every day, every night

A rain so fine you could breathe it
So swollen you could drown
In the tall grass never knowing
Why, eyes wide and mouth agape

That June as wet inside as out
The earth heaved upward
As the rain kept falling
The sky without warning red as blood

I remember now, a voice was calling
“Come back through the long grass,
Come back through the red, red rain.”
But the red rain was you.

Winter refuses
To let February rain
Wash away the cold