Wednesday, October 2, 2013


In the car overnight, she left Polish
dogs meant for Aunt Jane & Toddy's dinner.
We make jokes: did the dogs bark in Polish?
Almost. And the car stank like Hell's Kitchen.
What if they were dressed in sauerkraut gowns?
Then they would wildly dance to the polka.
At least she brought in garlic & onions.
There is no telling what would've happened
to the Polish dogs & onions—alone,
snuggled in the back seat, unchaperoned.
You know: one polka leads to another.
The wolfish accordions unleashed &
keyed up, they would howl at the Hunter's Moon;
& then the frenzied music would take flight
upsetting bright stars in the steadfast night.



No, it's not quite a sonnet,
no couplets held in time
not much by way of rhyme
nor a good volta in the 8th line;
trains of thought were overturned
at every whimsey and whim
but in every line, ten syllables,
yes, count them, one and all,
not iambic, but a veritable sonnet,
so Shakespearean, plus one.

See Keats' Bright Star

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