Haikus For Beaker
Hi. Remember me?
Beaker, here. I've been standing
taking mail for months.
All seemed well until
the much prayed for snow did fall.
Which led to the plow.
Menacing me in
the dark, pre-dawn, he bore down,
like a monstrous troll
I saw him veer and
aim right for me, smashing me.
Plow: 1, Beaker: nil
Finding me AWOL,
Charles dug me out and propped me
up the best he could.
Large rocks he piled
'round my post, "Good enough", he
said, then left for work.
Abandoned me to
my fate. 'Good enough' was NOT
'Good enough' at all!!!
For mere days later,
with the next snow, he returned.
Plow: TWO, Beaker: nil.
So, pathetically
I lean, spine broken, skull cracked.
I'm perky no more.
Blame me not if your
mail goes missing and future
refund checks are lost.
Not that I'd plot such
a thing. I'm just saying what
you sow, shall you reap.
So, I'll stop now; I'll
lean and glower, a broken
shattered, bitter soul.
Labels: Horrid Haikus
posted by Diana at 12:29 AM
17 Comments:
The plow is clearly
in cahoots with the Stag Prince
and the biting flies.
They must fulfill their
Mission, to menace your hearth
and home and garden.
See, your haikus, which
are quite good, I think, inspire
such terrible stuff!
Bad Charles! Do mailboxes have souls? Otherwise, that one is going to haunt Charles for sure.
Poor Beaker! How horrid for him. He must be very upset. Perhaps you can, after replacing him, prop him up in the garden where he can spend his remaining days glowering at the deer and rabbits who might attempt to eat any of your plants. Better than a scarecrow!
Teri- Or, my wretched haikuim are inspired by terrible stuff that can only be told via truly horrible means.
Cagey- I am certain that, should mailboxes have souls, Beaker would be so endowed. (God, I hope that is not the case.)
Dana- Now, that's a fitting end. I can put him out and the wild grapes can come and twine themselves over him. (You know, as you stand and peer at him, he makes this "Meep! Meep!" sound. Or at least he does in my reality.)
LOL! Only you, Diana, could make the plight of a broken mailbox so entertaining.
Poor Beaker.
What is with these rural Wisc. snow plows? Can't they see the poor pathetic little chap?
I fear his days are numbered.
MOTHER OF INVENTION SAID:
But I shall go on
Valiantly taking mail
Until I fall down!
Oh, no you don't go labeling this as a "horrid" haiku. These are terrific. I feel that I know the beaker. I get the beaker. I love the beaker.
A fitting tribute. I think I recall from earlier posts that your mailboxes have a hard time surviving. Maybe there is some mega-mailbox to the XTREME made out of armor or something you could buy. It seems like everything today has an "extreme" or XTREME!! version. Allie and I even saw extreme brownies at the supermarket. I almost bought them just experience "extreme brownies"
Listie- Ah, you are too nice to me. Could Beaker read this, I doubt he'd be so charitable.
Rozanne- You'd think that dark green (with a jaunty bright red flag, no less) would show up starkly against the white-white snow. Therefore, I am convinced that the hit-and-run was with malice aforethought. And he's not the only one (she says grimly). Most of the others, inclucing his twin are in similar states of injury.
Ruth- And that day may be sooner rather than later. Poor Beaker, we knew him well.
Jocelyn- I swear 50,000,000 people in Japan would label it worse, but you are always kind. Beaker would be consolled, or at least slightly mollified, if he knew how many were pulling for him. I think I'll tell him that when I get the mail, today. (Provided he lets me do so.) Poor chap.
Stace- Yes. He replaced the leaning tower of Mailbox (oddly, leaning at just such an angle) who had been multiply creamed by The Plow. That one had been small, black, and metallic. I'm thinking of getting the XTREME!!! mailbox and encasing it in granite, with 3-foot-long spikes of galvanized steel poking out at snow-plow tire height. Defenseless no more. We'll name him Beaker's Revenge. Or Boxzilla. Or He-Box, Champion of Mailboxes. Or not.
Yeah- Blogger is finally letting me post a comment.
Which is.....
POOR BEAKER!! IT WAS GOOD WHILE IT LASTED...
Your haikus are amazing! :)
He Box! Or maybe Mailboxman?
Poor Beaker. Mean old Mr. Plow. For some reason, I now have the jingle from the Simpsons episode when Homer became Mr. Plow in my head.
Do you think Beaker follows the credo of the USPS? In rain, snow, wind, or hail, he'll still give you your mail? Forces of nature? Check. Snow plows? That box is left undecided.
Poor old Beaker! How many boxes does this make - 1 per year? Ever considered hanging him from the tree on sturdy chains so he could swing and laugh at the snow plow on his next trip through? I sympathize with Beakers broken parts. I, too, am suffering from a fractured foot after missing the last stair and now am hobbled by a plastic cast/boot. Life is just not fair some days. Hopefully Beaker and I will both be healed soon and back to performing our assigned duties in life.
Cathy
I wish to speak of
Beaker and his woeful fate,
but I am hivey.
Radiator breaks,
cold snaps, draft blows heat away
Splotchy. Itchy. Blah.
I am high, clearly,
on benadryl, so Beaker,
Do forgive me. Gah.
Lauren- Poor Beaker, indeed. (Evil blogger.)
Sanjay- You are sweet but the haikus are awful.
Dana- If he weren't on the losing end, I'd have to get him a cape.
Beth- I'd forgotten the Mr Plow episode!
Cathy- It'd be one a year if we replaced them when they were smashed rather than propping them up with piles of rocks. Sorry to hear about the foot. Makes it hard to teach the water aerobics and row the dragon boat.
Babs- Yer funny when yer high on antihistamines.
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