Please, no haikus. That little dance
of syllables
like the matador’s clatter
of heels.
No labile tilt of the body,
no toreador, no sword,
not today, please.
You see, it’s better
if this tiny poem
isn’t covered in blood.
Yes, there are 17 footsteps
between the matador
and the bull.
You can end it here,
turn the page, stop the bloodshed.
And so I beg you today
please, please,
no haikus.