New York City haikus, vol. 2

From the fall harvest . . .

Wild roses still bloom

on sycamore continents

as November knocks.

*

All thumbs on I-phone

except when I want to type.

Bee. Ex. Zee. Delete.

*

Windows flash pumpkin

on high. Whiteface Joker grins.

Wee Batman cowers.

*

Bruegel’s harvesters,

oblivious on their slope

to our dancing eyes.