I suppose it’s to be expected that the only cheerful haiku we received in this category came from unemployed poets. Working can suck. No doubt about it. Hell, even I know that, and I work at the Alibi, which is a crazy, fun-park, merry-go-round of unadulterated orgiastic bliss compared to most jobs out there. (I once got a foot rub and wrote an article about it. You call that work? Please.) John L. Orman’s grotesque haiku wins hands down (yeah, pun intended). He gets a $40 certificate to the District and two passes to the Guild Cinema.
Winner
Crank up wood chipper —
Full day of hacking up bark.
Blood! Look ma, no hands!
— John L. Orman
Honorable Mention
Telephones scream like
Wailing children with flashing
fluorescent light bones
— Amanda Rich
Smells bad I’m greasy
My boss is a fat weenie
I hate Schnitzelhut
— Diego Murray
When you work down in
the bowels of the brown earth —
dark, deep shit happens.
— John L. Orman
For me to hate my
Job would require me to seek
Gainful employment.
— MF Ward
