I am going on Holiday this weekend with my wife, sans Rugrats. I am joyful. Real men are able to express themselves in verse. I give to you my Haiku: Holiday...
(That wasn't the Haiku. I was just warming up. This is the Haiku.)
(Here we go.)
(Ok... Now!)
(3, 2, 1, Blast off!)
Holiday: A Haiku...
Packing bags. Sounds that deafen.
Tiny human mosquitoes whine, my patience boil.
Empty terminal packed with anticipation.
Liquid remedy soothes my soul.
Arrival, newness, crisp, clean, silence.
Holy shit! Look at the size of that bed.
Beach, bacon, Dreams of Mojito. Passion, if only for six minutes. Ouch! My back. Bliss.
Steel drums, Bronze, native skin. Native tongue...
Paradise.
Florida?
The End.
** I'm not a total ass. I know this technically isn't a Haiku. So if you're Japanese and your great great great great great great uncle invented the Haiku, no offense.
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