The kind of haikus I write are either spawned from boredom, disappointment, or a severe dislike of the situation in which I’ve (usually forcibly) been placed. I went to another late-night meeting, and naturally another set of haikus resulted because everything that could have gone wrong during this meeting did go wrong. The AV wasn’t set up like it was supposed to be, and when it was set up it buzzed the whole time, and then it stopped working. The man in charge treated me like his own personal servant…again. There weren’t enough chairs, so my coworkers and I had to sit outside and eat at the check-in table. The meeting could have easily been half as long as it was, but the people in charge couldn’t stop plugging their shit to make money for their organization.
Unlease the haiku beast!
Cheshire cat lady,
smile and grin and never frown;
whose trust do you have?
The woman in charge never stops smiling, even when discussing unpleasant topics. It’s super creepy. My coworker noticed and made a comment about how she never knew what to think of what she was saying.
Poor athletics guy.
Your report encourages,
but why are you here?
The guy from athletics gave his update about how the university teams are doing really well and he kept it short. Then he sat down and looked neglected and bored for the rest of the next hour and a half. Poor bastard.
know me by name. “Be our friend,”
they say. No thank you.
My office was not in charge of this event, but when things went wrong, we were the ones who worked to make it right because the people in charge were too busy milling around feeling important, not realizing that hosting means making sure things go smoothly, and not acting like the lord and lady of the land, greeting subjects and making long-winded speeches.
Stop talking, ladies
and gentlemen. Eight o’clock,
and I miss my boy.
Around eight I realized that I could be snuggled up on the couch in my pajamas with Boyfriend watching Star Trek: The Next Generation instead of hearing reports on adorable new merchandise the hosting organization hoped to overcharge the population for. My poems broke out of their calm haiku exterior, and became more biting.
There once was a man who would speak.
His speech is what made our ears leak.
It started alright,
but later that night,
he kept speaking and made us all shriek!
When I get bored, I can literally feel some kind of invisible plasma slipping out of my ears, making me stupider somehow. I’m not bored very often; I usually find some way to entertain myself, but my stamina drains away at these meetings, and I can only play in Imaginationland so long without looking like a space cadet.
Marching cult of the Fluffy Hat,
you’re crazier than my roommate’s cat.
It’s clear why you’re so proud of yourselves:
you make earplugs fly right off their shelves!
Your drums go ‘thump,’ your horns go ‘splat.’
You sound just like my roommate’s cat.
You prance around like little ponies,
and act like musicians, you little phonies.
You’re rude and untalented and smelly and fat,
you’re nowhere near as cute as my roommate’s cat.
My coworker loves my haikus and requested that I write about the band, which we all agree is like a creepy religious cult. Diminutive Roommate has a pretty severe dislike of the band; I was so excited to show her this poem, I called her on my way home last night to recite it to her.
I don’t know anyone who thinks these four-hour meetings are helpful. It’s like elevator music: If everyone hates it, why play it at all?