Happy Earth Day, Happy Record Store Day, and happy 22nd day of Sonnetachella. It’s been a long festival, but it’s yielded fruit. Today’s offering is perhaps more truthfully the 26th sonnet I’ve scribbled out this month, but I am trying not to rest on my laurels, as evidenced by the trilogy of sonnets for April 20. I’m not bragging. I’m just having a good time. Here’s an experiment in a rhyme scheme that is uncharacteristic for the sonnet, I believe. I’ve ended with another rhyming couplet but the quatrains go like this: ABBA–and that’s not an allusion to the Swedish pop band. I’ve fudged once for comic effect, so what we really have is something like this: ABBACDDCEFFGHH. Ha!
I saw myself when a friend posted this:
“I’m tired of people complaining about
The weather, and I’m complaining about
That.” She was so right. There’s something amiss
Almost everywhere, bone-chilling, blood
Curdling, heart-stopping stuff, disasters
Of every stripe, all of which, if one masters
One’s senses, are worse than our little floods,
Water-logged yards, perpetual gray skies,
Soupy dog shit in the grass, we can’t go
For walks, it goes on and on, like, you know.
Not to mention the stink bugs, little fuckers.
The seven day forecast calls for the sun!
With complaining, I think I’m almost done.