Dave Russo
Gliders
out of the clouds into our milk teeth strontium 90
All afternoon, we swung out on a rope and dropped into the water. Dove drunk from the trees. Lay on beach towels in a pasture the creek flowed through. The radio pulsed from a convertible Corvair. Cowbells, horseflies, sweet dung and grass. Blackbirds flickered the cedars along a fence row.
We drowsed in the sun. No worries about the nights we flew blind in the fog down Bradshaw Road. Or the time I nearly shot-gunned your head when we flushed a dove on a powerline trail.
In one corner of the sky, gliders climbed the heat from plowed fields. A tow plane droned over us, dragging its cable. You reached for it, laughing.
death of an old friend
a train’s horn through
miles of sleet
About the Author
Dave Russo’s haiku have appeared in Frogpond, Modern Haiku, and Acorn, among other journals, and in the New Resonance 5 anthology (Red Moon Press, 2007, 2019). Dave organizes events for the North Carolina Haiku Society and is the society’s web administrator. He is also a founding member of The Haiku Foundation and has managed the foundation’s website from its inception.
Stunning.