My son has just left to take the last load from his old apartment to his new. I’ve stayed behind to scrub the toilet, clean the oven, and do all the things mothers of sons do. Fast food bags, partially drunk Cokes, and junk mail are strewn across the small living space. I gather everything up, stuff it into a box, and head to the dumpster. On my way back to the apartment a sickening realization hits me. Foolishly, I’d placed my car keys on top of the pile, and tossed them, along with the trash, into the huge metal receptacle.

A young Hispanic man is sitting in his car on the other side of the parking lot. “No hablo inglés,” he says as I approach. My limited Spanish would at best get me a taco and beer (which doesn’t sound too bad about now). I mime the act of tossing my keys into the dumpster. “Oh, no,” he says. “Sí,” I say. He speaks something into his phone then turns the screen towards me. It reads, “What do you need my DNA for?” So much for the accuracy of Google Translate. Gestures seem our best recourse.

Finally, comprehending my gesticulations, he nods, leaves, and returns a few moments later with a large plastic bucket and a long branch. He places the upturned bucket by the dumpster, handing me the stick. Reluctantly I climb in. My foot lands squarely on a half-eaten pizza topped with lumpy cat litter. Poke around ... gag ... poke around ... gag. He motions for me to flip over a large tire on the top of the heap. Bile is rising in my throat. After a few more poke-gag iterations I make a hasty retreat empty-handed. “Lo siento,” says the young man. He takes his bucket, leaving me with the stick which I use to scrape crud from the bottom of my shoes.

dashboard Jesus
the Uber driver says
“have a nice day”

Terri L. French

is an author, editor, and haiku poet who lives on the road, with her husband and dog, in a home on wheels. Terri is past Southeast Regional Coordinator for The Haiku Society of America and served on the Board of The Haiku Foundation. She is former editor of Prune Juice Journal (senryu & related forms), and on the editorial team of contemporary haibun online (cho).

Author’s website: https://www.terrilfrenchhaiku.com/

More on the Web: By, About, and Beyond

⚡ Precipice, haibun by Terri L. French in cho (Issue 18.3, December 2022)

⚡ Tongue-tied, haibun in cho (Issue 17.3, December 2021)

⚡ Tzur Hei HaOlamim, haibun story in MacQueen’s Quinterly (Issue 5, October 2020)