An editor's haiku

The coffee is hot,
my hands poised above the text,
its vitals exposed

Regard the comma,
apt with the compound sentence,
not with compound verbs

An expanse of white,
regular ranks of black type,
and slashes of red

The patient labor
of the lexicographer
embiggens our tongue

So sweeping the claims,
so erratic the result —
Wikipedia

The writer who knows
how to use “comprise” rightly
will rise to heaven

Give up explaining
suspensive hyphenation;
insert as needed

A reporter’s hand
reaches for a thesaurus;
screams die in my throat

Too many “touches”
in processing the copy —
layoffs now impend

This writer’s in luck:
I have been turned down to serve
on a death panel

Too many hours
on a chair in the basement
perusing the Web

Previous efforts
emphasize the feebleness
of the work today