Watching cartoons late / When I should go off to bed. / Friday night again.

All the employees / Sardine-like, share the same breath. / The overhead glows.

The microphone cracks. / The volume is much too high. / A corporate headache.

The weekend is done, / Unfinished plans strewn about / like week-old laundry.

"Your love life will be / Happy and harmonious," / the cookie tells me.

Tuesday comes around, / Just as dreary as Monday / But without the rain.

The sun disappears. / Alone in silence, I type, / Writing a haiku.

The day is crying, / The sun held for ransom by / the dark, grizzly sky.

The snowflakes outside / Don't seem to understand "down," / Swirling 'round skyward.

The syllables tell / The first rule of haiku club / Like blood on white silk.

Editor headline / Misreads cause frustration as / A crash blossom blooms.

Somewhere in Dublin, / Fifty men know they can sing / Better than Bono.