My New Year’s Eve

Last day. Of what? Now
I see how time runs its race.
Sixty years. Nothing.

Restaurant chatter
I, without company, eye
eggs, draft these haiku

Foam-topped latte warms
Lips, tongue, palate, throat, bosom.
Finding its own path.

I recommend the
Veggie-Potato-Soufflé
At Sunflour Café

Eating alone takes
no time at all. Being
without conversation.

So willing to be
Alone. Negotiations
all inessential.

By this I mean I
prefer my own company
best of all. Always.

Haircut. Amazing.
How young I pretend
to pretend to be.

On the salon stool
I hear myself embracing
Angers of long past

After breakfast and
haircut, I will fry chicken
for tonight’s party.

Resolutions? How
Shall I walk a single block
Without a promise?

It feels natural
To wander uncertain paths
Knowing there are maps