David McCann wrote his first sijo on a restaurant napkin two years ago. Three of his poems:

There on the sidewalk she stood

in the cold wind, about to take

a big bite from the green apple

she held in her left hand,

black cellphone tight to her right ear.

'Are you there? God, who is this?'

Onset

The twin oak back by the house

has been drilled, carved deep for grubs.

The woodpeckers heard them chewing,

worked their intricate necklace of pits.

'This one's dead!' Bill shouts in anger,

whacking the trunk with his cane.

What I Want

Avarice, envy denied,

frustrated, sublimated.

What I want I need and deserve;

I need to have what you possess,

Your calm skill as you swim the lake

to the float where I lie gasping.