Mustafa

They call me Mustafa

In Karakoy

But dry food is not enough

A bowl of water?

I have no need

I drink from puddles

Crossing the Galata Bridge

They call me Mehmet

They have fish

Some caught, some scraps

But  moist and salty

I drink from puddles

In Tophane

Such riches

Unfinished iskender

I pull the slices

From stale pitta bread

I drink from puddles

Here I have no name

Tophane is no home

For the likes of me

I lower the tone

Tourists don't want stray cats

So I get moved on

Back in Karakoy

Ignoring my progeny

I seek a wife

One who won't scratch me

They call me Mustafa

I drink from puddles

she stirs my Turkish coffee grounds for divorce

Published (2021) Another Year The London Haiku Group Anthology 2020 page 41

the muezzin's call

reminds me

it's opening time

Published (2020) Creatix March

forty years married
less kama
and more sutra

Published (2020) Creatix Number 51