The Dark Knight: Haiku Squared

(I made up this form,
seven haiku between five,
intro excepted.)

1.

This is the short take,
because the longer version
will take many days.

On Saturday night,
The Dark Knight’s eager patrons
were damned attentive.

Stunning politeness
— no cell phones, no chattering —
spoke volumes sans sound.

Yet, while absorbing,
the movie is troublesome,
lesser than Begins.

The former — patient,
its arc elegant. This? A
relentless straight line.

2.

It’s the little things
that goose me, make me sit up —
curious details.

Weekend warriors
with guns and low-tech Batgear
and homemade costumes.

What’s the difference?
“I’m not wearing hockey pants,”
says The Batman, hoarse.

The Joker’s hair a
dirty dirty-blond, greenish
only from the grease.

Harvey Dent, white knight,
with leftover Nick Naylor,
too good to be true.

Erasing Ms. Holmes,
spunky Maggie Gyllenhaal
sharpens Rachel Dawes.

Her letter: unread
but more cutting than Joker’s
many lethal knives.

3.

Is it possible
to be at once far too blunt
and much too subtle?

Beat me o’er the head,
lessons of duality,
anarchy, justice:

Batman torn apart;
Joker wants the world to burn;
Dent makes his own luck.

And yet, it’s in there:
Corruption kills good intent,
Gordon is to blame.

If I had a goat:
Batman did the dirty work
for free (Lovett sang).