a pack of hoodlums beating up a man.
Running to spare his suffering, I forgot
My name, my number, how my day began..."
-"Saint Judas" by James Wright
For our last poems in Eng640, David thought it'd be fun if we all wrote sonnets. I think that's the worst idea he's ever had. Okay, okay, I see his point about how restricting yourself with form means you have to be more on top of your game than if you can just write whatever. I get it. I just don't like it. Ugh. My sonnet came out horribly, and I know the meter is off in places. I have a hard time hearing accents, I've found. Since I despise my sonnet and its title, I think it'd be fun to share it with everyone - share the pain, eh?
My wedding day came bright and clear with not
a cloud in the sky. Roses white and blue
came too and flower girls so cute, who fought
to win the biggest basket even to
the point of tearing each other’s hair and then
the rings were swallowed just as Father Mitch
got sick on Mom’s new rug while Dad said ten
of twenty vegan meals were pitched.
When lightning hit and power flickered out
I couldn’t help my laughter. No more lights,
or curling irons, forget electric harp.
I get to do this my way. Let them pout.
I found our drunken priest and pulled him right,
then I was married ‘neath a rain-drenched tarp.