Apr/May 2002 Poetry Special Feature

Three Word Poems

by Patty Mooney


Last Flight (a haiku)

The deadly click, click
of the broken parachute,
those melted wax wings.


Death Gets Around

Death is more devastating to the living
than to the dead. It treads in its deadly
way, the smart click of its heels
on the floor that gleams with wax.
It drifts lazy as nimbus without need
of a parachute. It waits behind gauze
curtains that lift in the breeze. It
wears a knowing smile.



It could be your
next-door neighbor.
It could be you.
Fear rides the sky
without a parachute,
pelted by danger.
Rain like wax,
thick and deadly
prescribed by priests
and measured out
click by click.
The scent of sin


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