August 26, 2025

sting **

A State Senator was scheduled to arrive in a neighboring town this morning.
She’d been invited to speak at a ribbon-cutting ceremony to commemorate
the completion of a years-long roadwork project for which she had helped
secure funding. Protesters, having been alerted the day before, lined the main
artery, shaking their signs as drivers came through. They were not in the mood
to celebrate, the Senator—in their minds—having made critical errors
of judgment throughout her decades in government. With a midterm
election on the horizon, they were taking every opportunity to make
their presence felt. The Mayor and Councilmen, seeing the bottleneck,
moved the proceedings to the town hall. The protestors followed in a line
snaking up the stairs and filled the gallery. A few residents were sitting
in the front pews. There was a policeman by the door and another
on the right wall, just under a window. The Senator was introduced
and the shouting began. She rose to the podium and opened a thick binder.
She wore a light blue suit and pale heels. Someone yelled “Shame!” and then
another voice followed and then “Shame! Shame! Shame!” became an anthem
while the Senator raised her hands in an effort to speak. Eventually, it got
quiet enough for her to say one or two things about the roadwork project,
which had taken more than two years and detoured traffic out of town.
Businesses had suffered from the loss in revenue. A few had closed.
But now there were new sidewalks and ornamental light posts and
planter boxes filled with seasonal foliage. The Senator didn’t say this part.
She thanked the Mayor and Councilmen and the beautification committee.
Then the shouting returned and intensified and the mayor raised
a gavel and struck it fruitlessly against the lectern. The Senator closed
her thick binder and gave it to her assistant, who handed the Senator
an oversized pair of scissors. She snipped the ceremonial ribbon positioned
in front of the podium and someone took a photograph. Fifteen minutes later,
she left through a side door and entered the passenger side of a dark red SUV.

late summer picnic table
a drip of ice cream
sometimes the bee doesn’t sting

** This poem is my first attempt at a haibun, a literary form that blends narrative prose with haiku. The form was created by Japanese poet Matsuo Basho. In a haibun, the prose section typically describes a setting, scene, or moment in an objective manner, while the haiku is intended to offer a moment of revelation, insight, or a shift in perspective.